The Princess
by MrsRegulusBlack123
Summary: Above the loud rumbling sounds of thunder, above the queen's shouts and the maids' pleas, a cry was heard. It was a sound so familiar and yet so unrealistic. It was the sound of a crying baby.
1. A miracle

It was a cold Saturday night nearing the end of November. Thunder and lightning were wildly clashing outside the thick castle walls, filling the atmosphere with a feeling of almost palpable eeriness as the rain poured down the windows rather like a waterfall.

A scream broke through the thick silence looming over the castle, and the maids standing around the queen immediately started whispering words of comfort and encouragement; telling her to push, to stay calm, reassuring her it would all be over soon.

She did as she was told, gripping the hand of Ottavia, her personal maid, tightly as she pushed just a little more, awaiting the cry of her baby.

It had been a long, exhausting night and when with one last effort, _one last push_ , the child was finally delivered, the mother's entire frame sagged against the pillows she'd been perched upon, relief flooding her senses.

The doctor snipped the umbilical cord and carefully took the infant in his arms, wrapping a silken blanket around it before turning to the audience standing there, all waiting in anticipation.

It was on November 26th of the year 19xx that the young queen of Accidia gave birth to her third child. It was also on that same rainy night, in the midst of a rainstorm unlike any other, that something truly incredible happened. Something that, by every definition of the word, should have been impossible.

Queen Rosalie turned her gaze to the man that had helped her deliver her third child now, the exhaustion evident on her fine features. But even that could not wipe the small, gentle smile that crossed her lips.

"A girl?" She asked, using the aid of Ottavia to pull herself up a bit and look at the man. Call it intuition, or a mother's keen instinct, the queen had always firmly believed her third to be a healthy, bouncing baby girl. The doctor hesitated though, making the silence that filled the room all the more obvious. It was unnerving, really... the baby wasn't crying. "A-another boy then…?"

The moments that followed might have been just that- moments- but to everyone present, it felt like ages. Finally, at long last, the doctor shifted the tiny weight in his arms and directed his gaze towards his Queen, a grave look simmering in his dark eyes.

"Your Highness-"

"Why isn't she crying?"

The doctor shook his head again, and that was when Queen Rosalie felt her world crumble. It couldn't . _Not her baby._

"I'm truly sorry, your majesty." The doctor spoke softly. Lithe hands flew up to cover her mouth, and Queen Rosalie choked out a sob, her whole body keeling over.

God, no, please. Please, no. Not her child. Not her baby.

"She was stillborn. She seems to have been for some time now... she-"

A flash of light lit up the room, giving the queen a glimpse of her baby, _her darling little daughter_. Whatever the doctor said next- a cause of death, her mind would later register- was lost on the mother in that moment. She was fixated on the bundle in the man's arms instead and couldn't help but gasp. She looked so small and peaceful, almost as if she was merely sleeping.

She couldn't be dead, right?

Somewhere in the far end of the room, the sound of a door being closed was heard, and they all knew the King was gone. A girl was a disappointment either way- a dead one... it was not even worth mentioning.

The Queen was shaking.

"My baby." She whispered as she held out her hands, her voice breaking. She reached out, motions desperate. "Give me my baby."

"Your majesty, you really shouldn't-" Ottavia started, only to be cut off as Queen Rosalie pushed her away with a force that should transcend the capabilities of her thin, exhausted body. She had never been what one would call physically strong, but as she reached out for the baby now, a ferocious-sounding _growl_ escaping her throat, she gave off the impression of a beast.

"Give me my baby!" She screamed. The look in her eyes caused the doctor to back off, for never in all of his years had he ever seen sweet Queen Rosalie in such a state. She looked insane, pupils dilated and teeth bared in a show of warning. All traces of her usual grace and elegance were gone as she blindly grappled for the wall- seeking support but refusing to give up. She looked downright murderous. "I said, give me my _daughter_!"

"My queen!"

"Queen Rosalie, calm yourself!"

"Your majesty, please!"

The maids tried to hold her back, the doctor backing off, still holding the newborn infant's body in his arms as he watched his Queen fearfully. This wasn't like her, and one would almost think she was possessed. The way she could still move around, albeit swaying, determined to get to her child, was something both terribly sad... and scary.

Queen Rosalie seemed ready to fight her way through the maids surrounding her, when suddenly, they all froze.

Above the loud rumbling sounds of thunder, above the queen's shouts and the maids' pleas, a cry was heard.

It was a sound so familiar and yet so unrealistic.

It was the sound of a crying baby.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome to my new story! In case anyone was wondering, Accidia is a fictional kingdom situated in northern Europe. You'll find out more about that soon though!**

 **Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review!**


	2. My new life

Most children don't remember their first couple of years on earth- don't remember much of anything before they turn five or six years old, in fact.

I am not 'most children'.

My name is Princess Helena Artemis of the Royal House of Accidia and I can remember every moment that has passed since my birth. Okay, so maybe I can't remember my _every_ moment of it, but I do remember the first time I opened my eyes quite vividly... and let me tell you, there's nothing quite as jarring as closing your eyes, surrounded by family and loved ones, only to open them to to a bunch of staring giants. They all started yelling in a language I did not understand, and next thing I knew, a woman's face was in front of mine.

Young and blonde, she looked like she had been through hell that day (or, indeed, simply childbirth). For the longest time, the woman simply held me in her tender embrace, whispering the same thing over and over again in her native tongue.

 _"Hon lever. Mitt barn, hon är vid liv. "_

She, I later came to realize, is the one who birthed me.

It's something I would honestly rather not dwell on, but the truth of the matter is that being a baby doesn't really leave me with many other options to choose from. It's either that or ponder over the reason _why_ I'm here, and I'm not sure if I want to get into all of the deep existential questions just yet, especially since last time anybody asked me, my name was not Helena... and neither was I two months old. I wasn't a Princess either.

My old name- my _real_ name, some part of my brain nags- was Maria. Completely unremarkable, I know, but my folks had always been of the rather religious sort, and what better figure to name your first daughter after than Virgin Mary herself?

I lead a happy life, a full life filled with friends and family and smiling faces, and just as everything tends to- it came to an end. I don't regret it, for I had everything I wanted. A husband, two kids. They loved me, and I loved them. Still do, really, even though I am not Maria anymore.

I guess, at the very least, this does solve the question of what happens to us after death. It's not a question I have ever pondered about much, being one of those people that would rather just cross the bridge when they get to it, but it has been answered all the same: Reincarnation. Somehow, I don't think I'm supposed to remember my life as Maria, but I still do. It's disorienting and weird, but I suppose I'll have the next several years to come to terms with this. Who knows? Maybe this is just the natural flow of things... maybe babies are born with the memories of their previous lives, and that is why they cry all the time. Maybe they forget over time.

Thinking of somebody taking care of a baby Einstein, or a baby Elvis Presley is fun and all that, but doesn't offer any real answers to my predicament. Maybe the whole thing is just so traumatic to our child brain that we forget all about it- boy, do I hope so.

Breast-feeding; just take that for example. Being on the receiving end of it is about just as weird as the fact that I no longer have any teeth in my mouth. It's not fun. I mean, the milk's not even that great, and it keeps running down my chin. On most nights I just long for cooked meals and a good glass of whiskey. Of course, being a baby, it will likely be a long time before the latter will be possible again. Just another downside to this entire situation, really.

Then there's of course the nappy matter. Don't get me started on the nappy matter. One thing you do learn by being a baby, is being unashamed of your own nudity.

Ottavia, my mother's personal maid, is the one that usually takes care of me. She's gentle and knows how to take care of children properly- does it with an ease that makes me wonder if she has any herself. I can't ask her, of course, but I can wonder.

Every morning at 10AM sharp, Ottavia comes into my room (or, at least, what I assume to be my room), pulls open the curtains and sets about her daily task of taking care of me. Ottavia is never silent, is always doing something, whether that is talking, humming a song under her breath or bobbing her head to a tune only she can hear. I can't understand the words she says, don't even know what language she's speaking, but the low tenor of her voice never fails to lull me to sleep. When I wake up, she's usually gone, but it's never long before she is back.

I rather like Ottavia, which is certainly a good thing because she is the one I spend most of my time with as it is. Disliking your primary caretaker would be... unfortunate.

Aside from the ever-present Ottavia, my only other visitor is usually my mother. She visits me from time to time, that beautiful, tall woman I saw on the day of my birth, always tailed by her personal maid. Her hands are soft as they run over my back, and she wears garments of the finest cloth. She smells nice.

There's a smile on her lips as she holds me close, seated in her rocking chair, and it is then that I get to see the outside world for the first time. My mother's chair is situated in front of the window, and as I turn my gaze towards the view outside of it, I am met with snow. There's just _so much_ snow. On the ground, on trees, on mountaintops- and there, in the distance- I can see what looks like a deer. The castle we live in seems to be situated away from any signs of human civilization... but it is so breathtakingly beautiful.

The Queen sings to me sometimes – she sings of things I cannot yet understand, but her voice is soothing and warm, and I can't help but be mesmerised as I look upon her. Sometimes, the melodies seem vaguely familiar, but I can never quite place my hand on what exactly they are called – or why I know them. Sometimes, she tells me what I believe to be stories- fairy tales, perhaps. On some other days she just sits in silence and rocks me to sleep.

She is gentle, and beautiful, and so, _so_ young. I wonder how old she is sometimes, what her name is and if I am her first child. (I believe so, after all, she looks to be in her early twenties). The quiet days are always the ones that set me thinking- I can't help it, just like I can't help the nagging feeling I get that she is not truly happy. She loves me – I can tell – but there is also something incredibly sad about her whenever nobody but the two of us are in the room. Not even Ottavia sees it... but _I_ know.

My mother is a mystery to me, but I feel like she is too young to be going through whatever troubles her. I wish I could help her – but here I am, barely two months old and as useless as a rock.

Logically, I know that I must have a father, but in the two months of my existence in this world, I have not yet seen his face. I wonder what he looks like, if being a King is hard work, but ultimately I don't really care.

He's not somebody that is present in my life- just a vague figure I know must exist somewhere. Maybe even within these very same castle walls.

 _C'est la vie,_ I suppose.

When the door creaks open that afternoon, I am expecting Ottavia, or maybe even my mother. I don't bother looking up, for I know the routine by heart. It is only when the door doesn't close like it should have, when the sound of feet against carpeted floor are much lighter than Ottavia's could ever be, that I deign to lazily open my eyes.

I don't see anything of course, just the high ceiling of my bedchamber and the rays of sunshine shining in through the window, but it is as I turn my head to the left that I come nearly face to face with... a curtain of blonde. Two of them.

And, oh, they're _children._

A moment passes. And then two. And next thing I know, we've been staring at each other for a while now.

I realize that I must have brothers - two of them, twins - and judging by their looks they can't have been older than five years of age. They're identical, as far as I can tell- with identical silver coronets balanced on the crown of the heads. They are blonde, like our mother, and their hair completely covers their eyes. For a moment, I wonder if they can even see me.

The boy in black whispers something, to which the boy in white grimaces and snaps something else in return. The boy in black laughs. I blow a spit bubble.

A little hand reaches out to poke my cheek and, _ow_ , it digs just a bit too hard for my comfort. I scrunch up my nose, but the boy that I assume to be my brother doesn't take notice. He pokes again, and again, and finally his lips twitch downwards.

 _She's boring_ , I can imagine him saying as he pulls his hand back. The other twin doesn't say anything. The boy in the black dress shirt laces his fingers behind his head, saying something with a grinning face, but the other boy doesn't look as amused as he is.

A voice startles us all, and as I turn to look at the doorway, I can make out a long, beautiful dress- it's my mother. She speaks to the boys with the same gentle voice she uses to speak to me, and it seems like she's asking a question. One of the twins shrugs, leaving the room, but the boy in white stays with me.

The Queen walks over to my crib, picking me up with gentle hands and a pretty smile, and I think she's instructing my brother to hold out his arms. He does. I am deposited in them. Patiently, our mother adjusts his hands so that one in supporting my baby head, and the other is beneath my bottom.

The boy's entire frame stiffens, unfamiliar with the concept of holding a baby in his arms, and he looks so lost that I can't help but take pity on him. Still sleepy from my prolonged nap earlier today, I blink my eyes and offer him a sleepy smile.

He looks surprised.

 _I think she likes her big brother,_ I think the Queen says, a hand reaching out to ruffle the boy's overlong hair.

My brother just stares at me, and slowly, he smiles back.

* * *

 **A/N: So here's chapter two, still on schedule! Don't have much to say about this one, except for the fact that the Queen's words have been taken from google translate. Basically, she's saying "She's alive! My baby, she's alive!". If you know Swedish and this is wrong, I apologize and please tell me so I can change it! Also, yes! Even though they do not live in Sweden, I'm making Swedish Bel and Rasiel's mother tongue. What do you guys think of that?**

 **Please leave a review~**


	3. Overheard conversations

It becomes easier to piece together bits and pieces of passing conversations as time goes by.

I'm not entirely sure if it has something to do with my incurable boredom these days or maybe just my constant exposure to the language, but once I get the hang of it, I'm picking it up lightning fast. It is indeed surprising, that development, because never in all of my years as Maria had I ever had any particular aptitude towards languages. Rather, I was average in every sense of the word.

To be able to take note of and memorize so many things all of a sudden is something... quite jarring, if I do say so myself.

But days pass, and while people come and go, no one seems to notice the baby silently moving her lips to words she doesn't necessarily know the meaning of. I cannot actually speak yet, and that is another thing I have come to realize. Despite the fact that I want to, it feels like there is a physical block holding me back- denying me my right to use my voice and sound out words. At the moment, all I can do is cry and make a series of random, unrelated noises.

So that's how I spend my days from that point onward, observing, listening, and _learning._ It beats boredom by a long shot.

Every day, Ottavia tells me _good morning_ as she steps inside my room, and whenever she speaks to me, I'm addressed by the term _Princess._ If my new lineage wasn't obvious enough from my lavish surroundings and the crowns on my family's heads, then the terms of address would certainly have clued me in. I don't know what my nationality is, but knowing it is a Kingdom that I hail from does narrow the possibilities down by a significant amount.

It can't be England, I figure, because even in my previous life I knew the basics of English. This language I'm learning now most definitely is not English. I entertain the notion that I might be French again for all of one second before I dismiss it because I've never heard anyone speak French around here... not to mention, France doesn't even have a King or Queen. I'm pretty sure the Royal House of Belgium communicates in French as well... so maybe it's the Netherldands, then? I'm not too sure what Dutch sounds like though. It's a subject that's still open for debate, but I guess my finding out about it is inevitable anyway- it has to come up in conversation at some point, right?

My mother's favourite fairytale is that of _Rapunzel_. She comes in one day holding a thick leather-bound book in her hands, and by the pictures in it I know which one she's reading to me. Little Red Riding Hood. Rapunzel. Rumpelstiltskin. Hansel and Gretel. They're all stories I've read before but all the same, I can't help but hang from the Queen's every word as she sits in her rocking chair with me in her arms, her big fairytale book opened up in her lap.

The snow outside my window has finally melted, giving away to blue skies and grassy hills. It's springtime, and there's something decidedly wonderful about the way the rays of sunlight envelop me whenever my mother and I sit by the window. It's warm and peaceful, and as we sit there it kind of feels like these days will never end.

It doesn't last of course, mainly because the Queen has different duties to tend to, and after the story has been read and my eyelids are drooping with the heavy weight of sleepiness, I'm deposited back into my crib for the rest of the day as the castle goes on about its usual bustling business.

Somewhere along the way, I discover that my brother's name is Belphegor. He's the one always wearing white dress shirts, while his twin wears the exact same outfit in black- they're always together but from what little I have seen of them they rarely ever seem to get along. I see them occasionally, if only in passing, and they are often followed by a tall, scary-looking butler- sharp words being exchanged at every corner.

Our mother tries to get them to get along whenever she's there, but to little effect.

The first time I see my father, spring has replaced winter for good, and there are birds twittering outside my window. That day starts out the same way as any other, with Ottavia coming into my room to wake me up and give me a bottle before she takes me away to the bathroom to give me a bath and change me into some fresh clothes. The way that morning differs from the ones before it, is in the fact that after my bath I'm set down on the changing table and instead of the usual footie pyjamas I'm always wearing, Ottavia takes out a dress. The fabric is a beautiful shade of deep red and around the waist there's a ribbon that has to be tied just the right way to look good. Ottavia dresses me with an expertise I've come to expect from her by now.

A pair of white socks are put on my feet, as well as a pair of black Mary Janes. As a finishing touch, a little crown is perched on my head, though how exactly it remains there is anybody's guess... I don't exactly have a lot of hair.

It is then, as Ottavia moves away for a moment, that I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and unwittingly, I find myself surprised. I had always known of course that, being a baby, I must look different now... knowing something and actually seeing it with your own two eyes are two very different things.

The face I am met with is not that of a woman; it is that of a child. My cheeks are round and pudgy, a little tuft of blonde hair growing from the scalp of my head. Rosy cheeks and big, blue eyes framed by thick eyelashes stare back at me... I am, I have to admit, a beautiful child.

That sounds vain, of course, but do try to remember that up until a couple of months ago, I used to see a very different countenance in the mirror. Gone is my chestnut brown hair, as well as the dark, expressive eyes... it hits me in that moment that I really am somebody else now.

I am a child, and somehow this really is happening.

" _What are you looking at, Princess?"_ Ottavia's voice reaches me, and I look up at her, blinking owlishly. She says something else that I do not catch, and reaches out to pull me into her arms. The maid doesn't return me to my room, instead we head down the stairs and cross a long, long hallway. To me, it seems endless.

There is a door at the far end of the hallway, and Ottavia pauses for just a moment in order to knock before she is let in.

" _Thank you, Ottavia."_ The arms holding me change, and I now find myself in the familiar embrace of my mother. I instinctively nuzzle my head into the crook of her neck. _"Then... is that everyone?"_

We are not alone in the room. Both of my brothers are present, sitting on the sofa situated in the middle of the large chamber, and never have I seen the two of them sit so upright and stiff. Their backs are straight, heads held up high, hands placed on their knees. Like little dolls.

They are wearing matching suits, and this time there's no black/white distinction to tell them apart- only their crowns, which tilt in a different direction.

There is a photographer in the room, and beside him, hands folded behind his back and standing in attention is another man. This one is blonde, with broad shoulders and high, sharp cheekbones. He is wearing a black, neatly-pressed suit and over his shoulders hangs a sash of some sort. Purple and gold, there is an emblem on it. I recognize it from inside my room, Ottavia's uniform, my mother's own clothes... though I had always wondered what it is and why it was everywhere, I suppose now that this must be the family crest.

Clearly, the man standing in front of me is the King. My father. The crown that sits on his head only confirms my suspicion.

" _About time."_ He says, directing his gaze towards Ottavia, who quickly murmurs an apology. She bows and steps back. _"Well come on then, we don't have all day."_

We all move- though technically speaking, I am carried- to our positions, Belphegor and Rasiel remaining seated while the King and Queen come to stand behind them. Our father places his hand on Rasiel's shoulder, while our mother holds me with both of hers. Behind the photographer, Ottavia is making faces, clearly trying to get my attention. I oblige.

The flash goes off, a picture is snapped.

(It's the only picture we'll ever have of our whole family gathered together.)

~X~

It is astounding, really, how easily kids are overlooked.

Just because they are young, not mature enough to understand the matter of adult conversations, people tend to drop their guards around them. It's not like a baby can understand them, is it? Of course not.

Which is why I can tell you with certainty- based upon my own experience- that nobody gossips like the maids of a Royal House do. The first time I notice it, I am of course unable to understand a word of what they're saying. They come into my room, four or five of them, and from the moment they get in until the moment they get out, they're talking. This happens again and again, and even though the staff changes, the endless string of excited whispers never does.

It is only as I start to get a firmer grasp over the language that I am able to pick up bits and pieces of what they're saying.

" _Did you hear?"_

" _Felix got fired."_

" _Oh yes, he stole some of the Queen's jewels, didn't he?"_

" _What an idiot."_

 _..._

" _Gwendolyn had to bring Prince Rasiel his tea this morning..."_

" _Heard he spit it out and threw it at her face."_

It is... informative. Sometimes. Other times, it is a bother more than it is anything else... and sometimes, just sometimes... there are those things that would better have been left unsaid.

 _("No! Really?"_

" _The Archduke?"_

" _I saw them just the other day! It's true, I'm telling you!"_

" _There's no way... Queen Rosalie would never-!"_

" _... Are you so sure about that, Gwen?" The maid nearest to my crib giggled, "I mean, have you seen the Archduke? I wouldn't say no to that either!")_

* * *

 **A/N: Chapter three! Yay~**

 **Please leave a review!**


	4. Mother

My mother doesn't usually visit me at night, but there is one time that she does.

I'm on the verge of dozing off when the door to my bedroom is pulled open, a sliver of dim lighting slipping into my room. As I turn my head, sleepily blinking my tired eyes, I see the figure of my mother standing there, dressed in her long white nightgown, a waterfall of beautiful blonde curls cascading down her thin shoulders. The Queen is easily one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.

She quietly makes her way into my room, leans in over my crib and notices I'm awake.

" _Still awake?"_ She whispers, her fingers caressing my baby cheeks softly. She's smiling and I can't help but want to return the favour. _"You're a little night owl, aren't you, my Princess?"_

She doesn't take me out of my crib like she usually does but grabs a nearby chair instead, wood scraping against the floor as she pulls it over to my bedside and lowers herself into it. That's how time passes, in silence, and I'm almost asleep again by the time she speaks up once more.

The sound jerks me awake.

" _Helena... my little miracle."_

 _Miracle._ That's something she has called me before, even though I cannot fathom the why. My mother doesn't care to elaborate, simply starts humming an ancient lullaby as she rocks slightly back and forth in her chair. It's soft, slow... and kind of sad. But it's beautiful.

Slowly, my eyeslids droop again and I find myself in a world filled with dukes and duchesses and slow, graceful dancing.

~X~

It doesn't last long.

The next time I open my eyes, my mother isn't singing anymore, isn't rocking back and forth in her wooden chair. Rather, she is sitting up straight, alert- her neck tall as she looks around. There was a noise outside, I realize, and that is most likely what woke me up.

It happens, as they say, with a _bang_. It isn't as much a bang, of course, as it is a _swish_. A swift, dangerous glint of silver, and suddenly- I don't know how- the shadow of a man is filling my room. I can't see him, limited as I am in movements, but my mother jumps out of her chair and puts herself between me and the stranger.

There is somebody in my room, I realize. Somebody that wants to hurt us.

It doesn't occur to me, in the heat of the moment, exactly how strange it is that he got this far into the castle without being noticed. Guards are supposed to be stationed everywhere, and there's always _somebody_ awake.

" _Who are you? How did you get in here?!"_

The stranger doesn't reply, and I try to crane my neck, to look around, but I can't see much of anything. There's just my mother, standing in front of me, and a dark shadow stretching out until it reaches her. It looks like it could envelop her whole and I can't help but get this really, _really bad feeling_ in the pit of my stomach.

She must know, logically, that this is a bad situation... that the odds are in no way in her favour, but even so she doesn't budge. Doesn't show fear and though that's admirable, I also think that's really stupid. It's clear to me, even if I can't see the whole situation, that my mother isn't someone who fights. She doesn't know how to, and she probably couldn't hold her own in a fight either. She's a sheep facing a wolf.

" _Answer me!"_

So I do the only thing I can do in my situation- I start crying.

The scream, high-pitched and screeching as only a baby's can be, leaves my throat and I think I hear an unfamiliar voice yelling something- perhaps a curse because he's about to be discovered, perhaps something else- either way my sudden interference seems to have been a bad move because he launches himself forward- straight towards us with a steel sort of determination- and the Queen jumps right at him.

I don't know what happens next, for they have left my line of sight. But I keep crying and crying all the same... because somebody's bound to hear that, right? All I know, is that at some point Ottavia and my brothers' scary butler arrive and as I'm carried out of the room, they don't let me look at the ground.

~X~

An assassin, that's what they say.

My mother was assassinated, and it was my terrified cries that alerted the servants and guards to the position of her attacker. It is a bleak, colourless morning, tinted with rain clouds and grey _everything_ on the day of her funeral. It is as if the world itself is mourning her loss.

Once again, Ottavia has taken up the task of getting me dressed, but today I'm not wearing the beautiful velvet dress I was in for the family picture some weeks ago- I'm dressed in an elegant black dress with a white collar which runs up all the way to my neck. A little black ribbon is tied around it and throughout the whole ceremony I am held by Ottavia as she stands just a bit behind my father and brothers.

Belphegor and Rasiel look subdued today. They're not fighting, not insulting one another... they're merely standing there watching numbly as the coffin is lowered into the ground- a priest saying his final blessings.

A lot of people have gathered for the Queen's funeral- out of actual mourning or obligation, I'm not entirely sure – though I certainly hope it's the first one. Queen Roselyn was a good woman, and a good mother, and she deserves the blessings of everyone present.

The moment the ceremony is over, there are cameras in our faces, mics shoved in front of us so we can give our opinion on the whole thing. I can't say anything of course, but they're filming me all the same, as if they want some sort of a reaction. Are they expecting me to cry my eyes out? Are they expecting me to make a scene because I – a child of half a year – somehow miraculously understand the weight of death?

I loved her, my mother, even if I only knew her for such a short time- but I am not going to cry for publicity. I notice Belphegor and Rasiel aren't doing it either. (But that is different. They are _Princes._ Princes don't cry. It would be a disgrace.)

I hate the media, I realize then and there, and I wish I could tell them just what I think of their hurtful and probing questions.

We make our way out of the cemetery.

" _Who was the assassin?"_

" _What's going to happen now?!"_

" _Are there any plans for remarriage in your future?"_

It is Rasiel that finally snaps, a cry of _"Cant you see she just died! Stop it with all the questions!"_ leaving his mouth, apparently unbidden, because he looks just as taken aback as most of us feel. Quickly, he sends a glance in the direction of our father and quiets down.

Barely a month later, we are all gathered again. Not for a funeral this time, but for an execution.

In the middle of the courtyard, a man stands. He is young – no older than 25 – with a handsome face and an aristocratic, upturned nose. He looks nothing like an aristocrat now, of course, dressed in rags and made to kneel down in front of the King.

This man's name is Ruben Eklund, the Archduke of Accidia, and he is said to have assassinated the Queen.

My father gives a speech, a speech about how he is avenging his wife by killing the vermin that took her from him. He has a list of clues, a list of incriminating evidence... and well, who will talk back to the King?

To his last moment, the Archduke shouts- _"I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it!",_ and when the gun is raised and aim is taken, I can't help but hold my breath.

A gunshot rings out, and that is the first time my brothers and I saw somebody die right before our eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor poor Queen Roselyn, I kind of liked her character... so what did you guys think about this chapter? Feel free to leave a review and let me know~**


	5. Baby steps

Looking back at it later, I will be able to say that the Queen's death signifies the beginning of everything that followed. It's the first crack in the mirror- a leading event, followed by a sequence of different acts... all of which lead up to that one same point in time: the grand finale of our story... or perhaps, it is only the beginning of it.

What is an ending for some, after all, becomes a starting point for some others.

Either way, as we are escorted away from the courtyard, the image of blood and wide, dilated pupils still clear in the forefront of my mind, I miss the excited twitch in Rasiel's tiny hands. I miss the way Bel can't seem to get enough of the sight we have left behind, constantly turning his head to throw hidden glances over his shoulder.

I do not catch air of the morbid fascination that starts to grow inside them that day... at least not until it's already too deeply rooted to stop it.

~X~

Having mastered the art of crawling, I am now allowed to leave my crib.

This is, of course, a privilege only granted to me after the fourth time I end up accidentally hitting my head while trying to climb out of that aforementioned crib. Almost cracking your head open is not a very pleasant experience, admittedly, but the reward is still sweet all the same.

There are toys scattered all around my room. Dolls, stuffed animals, building blocks and simple puzzles that don't take more than a couple of seconds to solve. I take one look at them and my mind just does all the work for me... I appreciate the sentiment, but even with the initial burst of excitement that came with having _something_ to do, such things lose their intrigue soon enough.

There's also a little table with mini chairs situated in the middle of the room for what I assume to be pretend tea parties, but that sounds even less thrilling than puzzles designed for very young children, so it is left unused.

I'm not sure when all of these toys were brought in, for they certainly were never there before the Queen's death.

(I think it's strange, by the way, _and kind of creepy,_ that nobody ever thought to move me to another room after my mother's assassination... it was simply cleaned- the carpets and floors scrubbed free of dried blood- and life went on as usual.

I try not to think about it too hard as I lie awake at night, about the fact that a murder took place in my bedroom. It makes an unpleasant chill run down my spine.)

There's another turn my life takes shortly after this. Namely, now that my hair has finally grown long enough, Ottavia is tasked with styling it to look like the rest of my family's. Blonde bangs cover my eyes, and let me tell you, it makes comfortable navigation anything but easy. I ran into a door frame just the other day, and who can forget that horrible time when I didn't notice the stairs in front of me?

It's not that I'm clumsy... it's just that _I can't see a thing._

How anybody manages to live life like this, is well beyond my comprehension and I suddenly gain copious amounts of respect for both of my brothers.

Inconvenient hairstyle aside, it has also been decreed that since I'm wandering the castle (semi)-freely now, I need to always be wearing the silver little coronet that is sign of my status. It never slips off, strangely enough, even though I get the feeling that it really, really should.

It's a mystery for another time, I decide.

No longer being restricted by my crib obviously means that I'm around people more often now. This is, at first, mainly my brothers.

I happen to be unfortunate enough to walk in on one of their fights one day, and end up nearly impaled by a very sharp rock. Ironically, I have my accursed hairstyle to thank for my survival, for if it wasn't for the curtain of blonde obscuring my vision, I most likely would not have tripped over the protruding root in front of my feet, which would have ended with a stone to my face. Not the best case scenario.

I try to avoid places where I know both of my brothers will be after that, and instead take to exploring the long, spidery hallways by myself.

There is a library on the third floor, but that doesn't catch my attention nearly as much as the flat screen TV on the second floor does. I can't reach the bookshelves yet, so trying is futile, but I am in perfect reach of the remote control and that is how I spend my next several weeks.

Television can be very informative, and other than honing my language skills, I come across of several new bits of information.

First and foremost- the country I have been born in is called Accidia. I don't know what kind of a name that is, or why I've never heard of it, but according to the map shown by the weather forecaster, it's situated in northern Europe. It's a small but fairly influential Kingdom, and from Monday to Thursday there's going to be nothing but rain in our future.

The second thing I come to realize, is that the language we're speaking is Swedish. This I know because of a rather extended report on the news about the way youngsters are defacing the language by importing all sorts of foreign words and slang. Same old, same old, apparently. Some things just never change.

Additionally, Accidia has morning cartoons. They're the same cartoons I remember from my years as Maria, always playing softly in the background to keep the kids busy and satisfied, and there's something undeniably soothing about that fact. So I decide, why not?

~X~

That day, too, starts off with a fight.

Though to be fair, nearly every day starts off with a fight nowadays. Belphegor and Rasiel are the sort of children you see on TV, the ones that believe they are entitled to everything and throw a temper tantrum at the smallest thing... but most of all, they're just at each other's necks all day long. Looking at them, I am eternally grateful for the ones I had.

Apparently, today's incident started while horseback-riding in the castle gardens, overlooked by an elderly tutor who's no doubt on his way to being fired by now. I don't know the details, but I do know that Bel pushed Rasiel off his horse, and that there is a doctor in the latter's room now, declaring his arm is broken.

I do not envy Belphegor as he is called into our father's office.

Even as I sit here in my room, hidden behind the giant doll-house, I can hear the loud angry voice of the King berating his youngest son- yelling things I would never have dreamt of calling my own children.

He is harsh, precise, and though I acknowledge he has a right to be angry... it is also unfair to Belphegor because I know that, if one wants to be technical, that whole ordeal was probably retaliation for having been pushed out of a window last Tuesday... which, in its turn had also been payback for Bel putting worms under his brother's sheets... which- well, you get the point. It's a never ending cycle of payback upon payback with those two, and there's no way the King doesn't know that.

Rasiel sprained his brother's ankle with that stunt last Tuesday, but he never got more than a few disapproving words. I would know, because I was there. But it's always this way.

It comes down to these very simple, very rudimentary truths: Rasiel is the heir, and that is why he can do no wrong.

It's not the right way to go, and I can tell that with every step he takes- every poisonous word that leaves his mouth- he's ruining these children more and more. I don't know what his ulterior motive is, if he even has one, but I know it's wrong.

Which is why, when Belphegor finally leaves the King's office, shoulders slumped and gaze directed towards the ground, I can't bring myself to stay in my room and mind my own business.

Ottavia (bless her soul) never closes my door, because she knows I like to wander and closed doors pose a hindrance when one is so short, so leaving my room is no real problem. Bel is standing at the end of the hallway, his back leaning against against the wall as his knees give in and he slides down into a miserable heap.

It's the first time I've seen either of my brothers cry.

He doesn't notice my approach, silent as I am in my crawling, but the fact he's trying to stifle the sounds leaving his mouth is only making the entire sight all the more sad to behold. I want to tell him that it's okay to cry- he's only five years old... nearly six. No child should be afraid to cry.

 _(Princes don't cry. You're not a baby anymore, Belphegor. Pull yourself together. Rasiel would never act like this. Stop being an embarrassment.)_

It makes my blood boil, because this boy is a child- not a pawn.

I reach out a place my tiny hand on his own, an action which startles him out of his thoughts and back to reality. Almost instinctively, he pulls back, but then he realizes it's just me – the little sister he's only had a handful of interactions with – and relaxes again.

" _What are you doing here?"_ He questions, quickly taking a moment to wipe his puffy eyes. It's not as if he's expecting an answer from a nearly one-year-old, and I don't give him one, I move just a bit closer instead and carefully lay my head against his legs.

We just sit like that in silence for a while and it isn't long before the tears are falling again. Perhaps it's because I'm not reacting to it, or maybe because he knows I can't tattle on him, but the next time Belphegor opens his mouth, his voice is a bit steadier- a bit more self-assured.

" _I hate Rasiel. I hate him so much."_ Shortly followed by, in a lower tone of voice, _"I want Mother back."_

It's the wish of a child, of course, and no matter how heart-breaking, I know there's nothing I can do about that.

* * *

 **A/N: Aaand chapter 5 is out, still on schedule! To be honest, I'm surprising myself with this... Anyway, there was some confusion about last chapter and I just wanted to make a thing clear:** **_The archduke was innocent._ His execution was mostly a show of power, and never truly about revenge. The way the King saw it, his wife was his property... he might not have loved her, but her being with somebody else was something he viewed as treason, or an insult. And well, it didn't end well for the two of them, or their affair.**

 **If you're wondering when we'll get to the actual story, I've been working on planning the next couple of chapters and I can tell you... it will take a while. Don't worry though, slowly but surely Bel will start becoming the little psycho we all know and love~**

 **So, what did you think of this chapter? Leave me a review to let me know!**


	6. Dinner

There is something morbidly beautiful about the red colour of blood spread out against snow.

I have to admit that as I stand in the snow white garden that morning, wearing my thick winter boots and a warm white coat with big black buttons. There are fluffy ear muffs covering my ears, and a warm striped scarf wrapped around my neck.

There is nothing even remotely beautiful- morbidly or otherwise- about the skinned animal that lies just a few feet away from the blood.

I pull a face that clearly reflects my disgust, moving a few steps back and away from it.

Why I am out here is simple enough: It was winter, I had nothing to do, the door was unlocked. Why there is a skinned squirrel lying in the middle of the garden, on the other hand, is not something I immediately have an answer to.

It was there when I found it; has been there for some time now, if one has to judge by the amount of snow that was heaped upon it before I had the brilliant idea to go and nudge it with the tip of my shoe. _Curiosity killed the cat,_ they say, _but satisfaction brought it back._

Though it was curiosity that brought me to the discovery of the poor squirrel, there is absolutely no rush of satisfaction to go with it. Rather, I'm kind of disgusted. Sticking my hands into my pockets I turn around, upbeat mood gone as I trudge back into the castle.

It is easy enough to spot Ottavia, and I waste no time grabbing hold of the tip of her dress and pulling a couple of times to get her attention.

" _Out."_ I say, pointing my finger in the direction I want her to go in. Finally being able to use speech, no matter how limited it is, is a relief that I cannot describe. Obscure hand gestures help me get my point across. _"Out."_

" _Hmm? What is is, Princess? Is there something outside?"_ I nod my head in confirmation, and pull at her dress again.

I'm a bit too young to be speaking, but it's not as if I'm using full sentences yet. Besides, having had a pair of geniuses be born before me, the development doesn't seem to surprise the staff and personnel all too much.

Ottavia sets aside her broom, takes a moment to wipe the imaginary dust off her uniform and allows me to lead the way.

The squirrel is still exactly where I left it, and the moment she sees it, Ottavia sighs. She doesn't seem too surprised by the revelation, though the barely masked distaste is still visible on her features.

" _Another one?"_ She mutters. _"That's the third one this month..."_

I catch her attention and try to ask her what it is that did this. An animal, or something? No animal I have ever heard of could do a job so thorough. Ottavia's words only confirm this- she doesn't think it's an animal either... but if it isn't an animal, what can it be?

The way she squats down, inspecting the animal more closely tells me that's there's more to it than she's telling me, but when I ask her Ottavia merely shakes her head and tells me not to worry myself with it. She suggests that I go inside.

Being a kid sucks, mainly because adults never tell you the important stuff... they're afraid it might scare you off.

The incident comes and goes, and is tucked away into the back of my brain.

~X~

Having reached the age at which it is apparently acceptable for a young Princess to join her family at the dinner table, Ottavia escorts me to the dining room that night.

I had always known that it was going to be a very different experience from what I'm used to. Even so, I can't help but be surprised at just h _ow_ different it is. There is no cheerful chatter, no (obvious) rough-housing of rowdy kids, and there are a bunch of rules to be remembered and upheld. I hate it like I've never hated anything else before.

If I'm given any leeway, I suppose it is only because I am so young. I'm not expected to understand the concepts of etiquette quite yet, even though they are already fed to me with a golden spoon the moment I'm sat down on my chair. Back straight, no swinging my legs back and forth, elbows off the table. The last one is no trouble- my elbows don't even reach the table.

Belphegor thinks that's funny, and leans in to whisper " _why don't you bring along a pillow next time? Your chin might actually reach the table then."_ in my ear. I'm strangely tempted to stick out my tongue at him, but refrain from doing so as I'm quite certain our father would not appreciate the gesture.

As far as conversation goes, at least, dinner exceeds my expectations. I had been thinking we'd spend the entire meal in silence, but instead, the King uses it as an opportunity to interrogate us. Or, well, interrogate _them_. There's not much conversation to be had with one who's barely learning how to speak.

" _How fare your studies, Rasiel?"_ He questions calmly, and the twin in question sits up a bit straighter at being addressed.

" _Very well, father. We've moved onto 18th century Europe in history."_

Primary education. Another thing I'm not particularly looking forward to having to repeat. At least it looks like a crappy public school is not going to be in my future this time around, and that has to count for something, right?

" _Hmm, I see. I suppose that's satisfactory. What about you, Belphegor? How is that math coming along?"_

" _We just rounded up square roots, father."_

If I choke on a piece of broccoli right at this moment, it is not my fault. Really, it isn't. _Square roots_? Those kids are six! I manage to cough out an _"excuse me"_ when I realize everyone has turned to look at me. My father looks annoyed, and I feel my face turning red.

" _Try to take smaller bites, Helena. You're no peasant."_

Belphegor gives my leg a slight bump with his, whispering something about how the roots aren't _really_ square and I can't help but feel offended. I know what square roots are!... Helena, of course, wouldn't. The only roots Helena should know about are the ones that trees have. I'm just glad Belphegor doesn't use that overused, _you'll find out when you're older_ saying.

From there on, the questioning moves to calligraphy, to geography, to languages, to piano lessons, to classical dancing. I wonder how my brothers have any free time at all, but maybe that's just the thing... I don't think Rasiel _has_ any free time to speak of. Whenever he's not fighting with Belphegor, eating or sleeping, he seems to have his head buried in some book, or be listening to some old tutor talk about whatever his subject of expertise is.

I take a bite of my roasted duck, and resolve to enjoy my freedom to the fullest while it still lasts.

It isn't long before there are no more subjects left to discuss and a silence falls over the dining table. Occasionally Ottavia or Orgelt step forward to refill one our glasses, but other than that there's only the clinks of silverware against fine china.

After dinner, desert is served- a fantastic crème-brûlée that makes my mouth water with anticipation, and I don't hesitate to dig in. It is only some twenty minutes later, as there is one serving left and two empty plates in front of the twins, that things start going awry.

Naturally, both reach out to take it and, also naturally, both of their forks pierce into that same piece of crème-brûlée.

If I were to say that a feeling of impending doom washed over me in that very moment, I would honestly not be exaggerating.

Belphegor and Rasiel both turn to look at each other, lips titled downwards in a show of dissatisfaction. At the exact same moment they say-

" _That one's mine."_

That only seems to make the situation worse.

" _It's mine."_

" _No. It's mine."_

" _Remove your hand or I'll stab it."_

" _I'd like to see you try."_

Belphegor, never one to dish out empty threats, proceeds to do exactly that. Thankfully, Rasiel has quick reflexes and manages to save his hand from certain mutilation by angry twin brother. And promptly has to rub salt into the wound, of course.

" _You call that a stab?" Rasiel leers. "It didn't even graze me."_

" _That's because you moved your hand at the last moment, idiot." Bel is quick to retort. "What? Were you_ scared _?"_

" _As if."_

Dinner rapidly turns into a highly dangerous game of 'stab your twin with cutlery', the crème-brûlée that started everything laying aside all but forgotten. And that's not even the most surprising thing about the situation: apparently, the King is just going to _ignore_ the whole fight.

I take a look around me, but from the way nobody is doing or saying anything, the way Ottavia and Orgelt are not even batting an eyelash at the forks being chucked around right under their noses, I can only conclude that this- as bizarre as it is- is apparently not unusual.

Belphegor flips his knife around with a rather disturbing ease and flings it at his brother. Rasiel ducks, and Orgelt somehow miraculously catches it between his index and middle fingers. He doesn't even look too phased.

There is something very, very wrong with this scene... and why isn't anyone intervening?

For a moment, I consider mentioning the fact that they could _share_ their desert, but that idea is so laughable that it is dismissed in a heartbeat. The day Belphegor and Rasiel decide to share anything will be the day the sky opens up and it starts raining diamonds: a nice idea in theory, but totally unrealistic.

" _What do you want the extra desert for anyway? Go on like you've been and we'll be able to_ roll _you through the doorway!"_

Rasiel bristles at the accusation, reaching out to grab a handful of Bel's long blonde hair and yanking hard.

" _I'm not fat!"_ He cries. _"You're fat! Just wait until I'm King- I'll have you executed!"_

" _Oh, yeah? Well, I'll just have to kill you before you can become King! That way you won't be able to execute me!"_

" _Maybe I'll just kill you first!"_

" _You can't even hit me with a butter knife!"_

" _Neither can you!"_

" _Do you want to put that to the test, Siel?!"_

" _No killing!"_ It is my cry, shrill and childish, that draws my brothers' attention to myself. I'm looking at them with my best Mum Look, though I don't suppose they can see it through the curtain of long blonde bangs. The King isn't intervening but someone has to before those two actually _do_ kill each other.

There's a pout on my lips, which kind of cancels out the authority I'm trying to pump into my voice, and being the youngest of the bunch kind of doesn't really work in my favour.

Rasiel actually _flicks my forehead,_ as if I am some kind of a misbehaving pet.

" _Silence._ "

Excuse me?

The expression my face takes on must be very funny, because Belphegor snickers. Before I really know what I'm doing, I am learning over and _flicking Rasiel's forehead right back_ , a stern look on my young features.

" _No."_

Somehow, I end up a willing participant in a fight I was only trying to stop.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there! Hope you enjoyed the chapter~**

 **Please leave a review, reviews make writers happy!**


	7. Grounded

To be completely honest here, if you look at it closely, this whole thing didn't even start with me.

I mean, sure, maybe I could have minded my tongue... but how on Earth was I supposed to know that Father had chosen _today_ of all days to have a couple of very important, very influential guests over for dinner? How was I supposed to have known that they were French? Or on the second floor? Moreover, to be entirely fair, it isn't exactly my fault either that I didn't see the ripple in the carpet and ended up tripping over it...

The fact that I cried out "putain!" just as I fell... well, that was unfortunate... it's not like I had planned it all!

The King, of course, was not pleased... or amused, or anything of the like. Which is why I find myself in my room now, _grounded_ , apparently.

Yes, you heard that right, I'm grounded. It's boring, all on my lonesome, and I'm not about to sink as low as to squat down and start talking to teddy bears and porcelain dolls. I may be a child in body, but I still have my adult pride in spirit.

So I spend my time lying on the bed, on the floor, outside on the balcony, staring at the ceiling or sky and wondering how long this whole thing will last. Ottavia brings me food during mealtimes but despite my pleading, won't leave the door unlocked after she goes.

So I decide to put my artistic skills to the test... who knows? Maybe I've suddenly become a talented painter in this second life of mine or something? No such luck- my drawing skills are still just as dismal as they were when I was Maria. Two stick figures are drawn on a sheet of paper, and if nothing else, I believe they look quite drunk. Yes, apparently, stick figures _can_ look drunk. Though I suppose the swords I drew in their hands kind of contribute to it- they don't exactly look like swords... they kind of look like bottles. Weirdly-shaped bottles.

Well, I'll never be Picasso- that's a thing I have accepted long ago and made peace with. A thing I do seem to discover though, is that my new favourite colour is red. I don't notice it at first, but as I go on with my artistic endeavours, I realize that more and more- in every drawing I'm making- that colour is present.

It's pretty, I suppose.

It is as I am seriously contemplating taking a new sheet of paper and writing down my entire autobiography and memoirs, that I hear a sound- a banging coming from my closet. I jump, head snapping around so fast I'm surprised I don't get a whiplash, and look to my right.

I hear another bang, this time louder, followed by another consecutive series of bangs. It doesn't sound like wood, I realize, but rather... metal?

" _Helena! Get over here!"_

...

" _Bel?"_

" _Come on, I'm stuck."_

Yes, that definitely sounds like him but...

" _Why are you in my closet?"_

" _I'm not in your_ closet _, dummy! I'm behind it. Push it out of the way!"_

I think Bel is forgetting a very important fact here: namely, the fact that I am two years old! There's no way I can move that giant thing...! Still, I raise myself out of my chair and make my way over to the closet. It's a big, Victorian-style piece of furniture, much like everything else in my room is. It's really pretty, but the doors creak whenever I open them. I put my back against it and _push_.

" _Yeah, no... that's not going to work."_

" _Try harder- it can't be that heavy."_

" _I'm two years old!"_

" _Stop being a baby!"_

" _I technically am!"_

Which is how the next thirty minutes are spent until I've finally, _finally_ managed to shove a wardrobe four times my size to the side in order to reveal what looks like a vent. Oh, who knew that was there?

Lowering myself so that I am lying on my belly, I come face to face with a grinning Belphegor. Sure enough, he gives a little wave.

" _I didn't know there was a vent here..."_ I mutter contemplatively. Not that I've ever needed it but, you know, it's always good to know these kind of things. _"What are you doing here?"_

 _"Making sure you don't die of boredom?"_

" _Fair point."_

" _Yeah, yeah,"_ Bel shakes his head dismissively, passing me something through the gap in the vent. _"Get me out of here."_

I look down at the object in my hands, blinking when I realize- it's a knife. Now, I've noticed that Belphegor seems to have a certain... _affinity_ to sharp or pointy objects, but that doesn't really put me much at ease.

I set to work, unscrewing the screws that are keeping Bel away from my room. Lightly, I ask-

" _Where did you get this?"_

" _From the kitchen, where else?"_

So he's stealing now? That doesn't seem very princely. I tuck the information away into the corner of my brain, resolving to tell Ottavia as soon as I see her- it isn't responsible behaviour, to leave knives and dangerous things in the reach of such small children. Bel is barely seven. The Mum in me is protesting loudly at this serious oversight in parenting... though, if I'm being honest, there's a lot of faulty parenting going on in this castle.

" _There you go."_ I mutter, moving the piece of metal and resting it against the wall. I move back, giving Bel the space he needs in order to pull himself out of the vent. He needs a bath- I promptly decide as soon as he pulls himself up to his full height.

There's dust all over his clothes, face and hair, and well... there are smears of black all over his white dress shirt. He doesn't seem to really mind much, just takes his knife back and pockets it. Curiously, I take the chance to peak into the vent and look at where it leads to.

Apparently, it's connecting my room to somebody else's. I can see a bed- two of them, and white carpet.

" _Is that your bedroom?"_ I ask, turning my head to look back at Bel. Even after two years of living together, I realize that I've never actually seen my brothers' room. I know they share one, and that it is next to mine, but I've never been allowed entrance... or been interested enough to break in myself.

" _Yeah... mine and Rasiel's. He's studying at the moment so he won't be back until much later."_ I nod my head. That's good to know. But Bel isn't interested in talking about that- there's a grin on his face and as he sits down in front of me, I can't help but get the feeling I'm about to be interrogated. _"So how did you manage to get yourself grounded, little sister?"_

I know Belphegor better than that.

" _You wouldn't be here if you didn't have all the details already."_

" _True."_ Bel snickers. " _So what does "putain" mean? I tried to ask Monsieur Émile but he wouldn't tell me."_

I try to sound innocent as I answer-

" _I don't know. I must have come across it while watching TV."_

" _Mhmm, I'm sure you did~"_

He doesn't press the matter, and for that I am grateful.

It's a relief not to be alone again, and at least Bel seems to realize the puzzles and games I'm being given are far from stimulating enough- says something about how peasants can't understand the minds of royalty. Instead, he sneaks in some of his and Rasiel's things. Puzzles, books, games and the like. He spends that morning teaching me how to play chess. Naturally, he also wins every round.

I can't help but wonder, sometimes, if Belphegor is more than simply a smart kid.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello folks! First of all, I want to thank everybody who has, favourited, followed and reviewed The Princess so far- it gives me great joy to know people enjoy my stories! Second, I know I said I was going to update every day of this month... but real life has decided to come and mess up my plans. I've got a lot of assignments and tests to study for next week, so I don't think I'll be able to write much. Don't worry though- I'm not abandoning this story or anything of the like! I'll be back next week- either Saturday or Sunday- with a brand new chapter!**

 **Anyway, what did you think of this chapter? It was a little shorter than my usual but I figured it was better than nothing. Please leave a review and I'll see you all next week~**


	8. Life at the castle

As my third birthday comes and goes, my life as a Princess really starts to unravel.

First of all, I'm taught how to read and write in Swedish. It comes to me with surprising ease, though part of that might have to do with the fact that I already know how to speak the language. The fact that I'm already familiar with the alphabet, of course, serves as another great benefit to myself. As soon as I've got that down, the notion of free time becomes something of the past.

My days start at 9AM sharp with two hours of obligatory reading and writing classes. Those are usually held in the library, where the thick velvet curtains are always drawn in order to avoid distraction. The artificial light shining down from the chandelier makes me sleepy and my language tutor – a stern old man with small round glasses – has a dull, droning voice that does little to help me stay awake. He always requires my work to be pitch perfect before moving on to the next thing, something I learn the hard way when he makes me copy a text no less than 28 times on the grounds of my handwriting not being neat enough.

Well excuse me, I think to myself, _I'm three years old!_ Not to mention, why is the first thing I'm learning how to write this fancy cursive, anyway?!

I complain about it to my brothers during our so-called 'study hour' but they don't think much about it. Apparently, this is normal for our family, because both of them can do it perfectly. They tell me that anything less would not be befitting of our royal status- parroted words I'm quite sure actually belong to our father.

After my morning writing and reading sessions, comes etiquette. Everything I do- from the way I sit, to how I walk and talk are constantly criticized.

I used to think that walking around with a stack of books on your head was something that only happened in cartoons and movies- but, boy, was I wrong. My etiquette tutor didn't particularly appreciate me laughing in her face when the suggestion came up... but here I am, walking up and down a stairwell and trying not to drop anything.

My etiquette tutor is the devil's incarnate. Everything that comes out of her mouth makes me want to rip the book off my head and throw it at her ugly, smiling face. Of course, chances are Ottavia would catch the book before it hit anything and then I'd be stuck in an endless loop of exactly _why_ what I did wasn't acceptable Princess behaviour.

 _Princesses don't show their aggravation._

 _They stay polite._

 _Always smile._

 _Back straight._

 _Head high._

 _Don't laugh loudly, and cover your mouth when you do laugh._

 _Don't speak unless spoken to._

 _Sit like a lady. No, not like that. You are a Princess._

 _Royalty was born to rule._

 _Act like it._

 _But remember, be polite._

 _Always smile._

Life doesn't really get any faker than etiquette lessons, I discover this early on. It's always a relief when I'm allowed to go, and I all but sprint out of the room the moment 11:59 becomes 12:00.

Sometimes, I'm joined for etiquette lessons by my brothers.

Those lessons are always somewhat more bearable, if only because I have somebody to share my misery with. We are taught how to dance then, how to make the movements look more fluid, more genuine, or how to act in different formal or political situations.

That involves a lot of role playing, sore feet, and a mutual agreement that etiquette is the absolute worst.

Right after dinner my brothers and I are banished to the library to have our hour of what we call _study time_. Supposedly, it doesn't really matter what we do as long as it's related to something we are learning. Needless to say of course, with only Orgelt or Ottavia to watch over us... those hours usually end in fighting.

Somehow, no one ever tries to stop it.

My afternoons are marked by variation. It's maths on some days, geography, art or music lessons on some others, and on the days when I'm really unlucky, it's just more etiquette. The history of Accidia is one of my favourite subjects, mostly because it's so fascinating.

Our Kingdom wasn't always called Accidia. In fact, the name dates back to the late 14th century.

Prior to that it had had a different name, ruled by a bloodline that is not ours. Hit by the black plague, the kingdom had suffered many losses and by the time the last King came to power, he was the only royal-blood left.

Naturally, he would need an heir. It was a dangerous time not to have one, when people fell to the plague like flies do to bug spray. As if it werea page ripped straight out of a fairy tale book, the King fell in love with a commoner- a peasant. A street rat. She became the Queen, and her son – though not of royal blood – was crowned a Prince.

It says a lot about our family history, I think, that Queen Accidia ended up assassinating the King, took over the country by force, and named the Kingdom after herself. It's at least obvious where the narcissism comes from now.

There is a painting of the first Queen in my history book, and I can't help but be surprised as I set my eyes upon it. She really _is_ beautiful. She also has the exact same hairstyle as my brothers, father and I. Apparently, that's a family tradition started by her.

As I skim through Accidia's history books, one thing becomes glaringly obvious- our family has a history of bloodshed. You can't read two pages without coming across a passage about someone having murdered someone else, whether it be a sibling, father, friend or enemy. It's all about power, and one-upping the rest. A line of geniuses and what I'm quite sure is the textbook definition of a psychopath. Fascinating as it is, it's not particularly comforting.

~X~

Belphegor and Rasiel's fights only get worse as time passes. Where they used to be limited to bitter words and angry rebukes, they now actively seek to hurt each other... emotionally, mainly. They know to hit right where it hurts the most and neither of them is familiar with the notion of giving up… so really, it just keeps on escalating.

I hate it.

" _You're not even that important, Bel. I mean, if anything- you're my replacement. You're a_ _spare."_

"You act like everything's great, but I know better. You're barely keeping up with the workload Father's putting on your shoulders."

" _You hate being invisible. You want to be noticed too... but let's admit it- you'll always be the inferior twin. If they ever even introduce you in history books, you'll probably only be known as King Rasiel's brother!" A snicker. "How sad for you."_

"You're not the great genius everyone thinks you are- but you're too scared to tell Father that, aren't you? You don't want him to think any less of you, because then you'll end up like Helena and I."

" _You're jealous."_

"You're scared."

I hate the fact that there's nothing I can do to stop them. And I have tried, mind you, time and time again... but they only ever ignore me. I'm too young, they say. The fight doesn't concern me.

 _So be a good girl and go stand somewhere else so you don't get hurt._

It's not fun, but it's the reality about life at the castle.


	9. Ottavia's warning

On his eighth birthday, Rasiel receives a bunny. It's a fluffy, adorable little creature- with fur of the purest white and eyes of the clearest blue, a golden ribbon is wrapped around the animal's fragile neck. Rasiel loves his new pet and spends the entire day playing with her. Her name is Diamond.

On the morning of December 23rd, Diamond is found dead in her cage.

It's a gruesome sight- that of blood against the walls, intestines spilled out on the floor. Diamond – the poor thing – looks like she got mauled by a bear.

Rasiel is screaming, streams of angry tears running down his cheeks as he yells and cries and _threatens_ everyone around him. Some of the maids, gathered curiously outside the twins' bedroom, shuffle away nervously because at the moment their Prince really looks like he _would stab a rusty knife through their eyeballs_.

Nobody knows what to make of it. There is no way a wild animal got this far into the castle unnoticed... it's even more unlikely that it killed Diamond without anybody waking up. I mean, it would have made _some_ kind of noise, right? Curiously, I'm reminded of that dead squirrel I found in the garden so many months ago. That, too, had been horribly mutilated. Could the same culprit be behind it?

Bel doesn't talk, doesn't do anything. In contrast to his brother, the younger twin remains perfectly calm throughout the whole thing. He looks almost... serene. (And yet, yesterday, wasn't it Bel who couldn't sit still for even a moment? Wasn't it _Bel_ , who fidgeted all throughout dinner?)

It's as if I'm staring at a puzzle and all the pieces are right in front of me... they're just not connecting.

Us kids are ushered out of the room by Orgelt and Ottavia, told to go to my room as they take care of the matter. I don't want to imagine how they'll scrape Diamond's remains off the floor and wall- I only know that, somehow, by the time they're done, it will be as if this whole thing never happened. That's the kind of efficiency Orgelt and Ottavia are known for- I think it's expected of them, being the King and Queen's personal servants.

The three of us go to my room and as I perch myself on my bed, I can't help but notice how _strange_ both of my brothers are acting. Once he gets over his initial shock, Rasiel's taunts towards Bel only seem to grow sharper. But Bel looks subdued today- he is calm, barely reacts to his brother's words at all. That only serves to make Rasiel angrier.

You see, there's a certain routine where my brothers' fights are concerned. Rasiel usually starts it by taunting Bel, but it's always, _always_ Bel that makes the first physical attack. Rasiel likes to gloat, and there's nothing that satisfies him more than knowing he's managed to get under his brother's skin for the umpteenth time.

Today, as Rasiel throws himself at Bel with all he's got, that routine is broken.

Between all of the kicks and punches, the angry fistfuls of blonde hair- Belphegor and Rasiel barely even look like they're human… let alone princes. I try to stop them, and I find out that getting punched in the eye hurts. A lot.

~X~

" _I'm fine, really..."_ I mutter as Ottavia hovers over me, a look of unmasked concern written across her features. She's holding up my bangs, examining the eye that was injured earlier this day. Perhaps saying it's ' _fine'_ when I'm still unable to open it does not come across as particularly convincing because Ottavia sends me a stern look.

" _Princess..."_ She sighs, _"You really need to start staying away from your brothers when they are fighting."_

" _Maybe if an adult tried to stop them, there would be no fights to begin with."_

Ottavia looks at me like _I'm_ the child. Well... I mean, I guess I technically am but- see, that's beside the point. Irrelevant. She passes me an ice pack, which I carefully press to my eye. It stings. Who knew an eight-year-old could pack a punch like that?

" _It really isn't my place to interfere. Our King knows best, always."_ She doesn'tlook like she believes that, but it's not like she has the power to do anything about this anyway. I know that, just like she does. Her hand moves up to stroke my hair in an almost motherly fashion, so softly that I don't think she even realises she's doing it. She has this faraway look in her eyes... _"Still... will you do me a favour, Princess?"_

Now, this, I'm not expecting. It certainly seems... odd.

" _Ottavia...?"_

" _Be careful around your brothers, won't you?"_ There is something about her eyes, something about the way she says those words- I know that she is completely serious about her request. She's gripping my shoulders tightly, but not painfully, her eyes drilling into mine. Her gaze is intense... she's kind of...

" _Scaring me... Ottavia, you're scaring me."_

She doesn't let go, just repeats what she's already told me.

" _Be careful around the Princes. I know you don't understand this but... that's not... normal child behaviour."_ She pauses then, eyes haunted, and looks angry at herself for saying that. She's not supposed to, I know. She shoulders on though, asking me one last thing. " _If anything ever happens, please look for me. I will protect you."_

" _Why would I... need protection from Bel and Rasiel?"_ Sure, their fights are... _something_... but they've never intentionally hurt me. The way Ottavia is looking at me though, I get the feeling that she's talking about something bigger than just their fights.

" _Promise me. Please."_

" _Ottavia... let me go."_

" _I know you don't understand, but-"_

" _I said, let me go! I order you!"_

I'm half-expecting it not to work, but surprisingly, Ottavia stiffens and her grip slackens. She drops her hands and takes a deep breath, composing herself. When she looks up at me again, she is her usual self.

" _My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean to frighten you."_

About half an hour passes before I get a new visitor. It's Rasiel this time, who, in a rare show of surprisingly adequate parenting, was apparently sent by our father to apologize for punching his three-year-old sister in the face.

It's awkward, and the apology he offers is not quite an apology, but it's appreciated either way.

" _I'm sorry about Diamond."_ I say as he turns to leave, and that seems to catch him off guard because he just stops moving altogether and turns to look at me.

Finally, after what seems like a long moment, he opens his mouth.

" _I don't understand you."_

" _... huh?"_

But he doesn't elaborate, just turns around and leaves the room.

This whole family is a mystery to me, sometimes.

~X~

There's blood.

 _Be careful around your brothers, won't you?_

So much blood.

" _Bel...?"_ I croak. _"What- what happened?!"_

Bel grabs me before I can say any more, covering my mouth with his empty hand. There's blood on my lips now: I can taste it- _smell_ it. I make a disgusted sound and try to get away from him.

" _Hey, calm down. It's not mine."_

I'm not sure if that should worry or reassure me. On the one hand, my brother is not actually hurt... on the other hand, if the blood is not his, then... whose is it? Bel asks me if I'll keep quiet and, unable to do much else, I nod my head. He obliges easily enough and the first thing I do is rub my mouth with the corner of my sleeve.

One thing is for sure, my little late night search for a glass of water has just taken an alarming turn.

" _What... why are you covered in blood...?"_ I whisper urgently, eyes taking in his taller form. There is blood everywhere. On his pyjamas, in his hair... on his hands. He's holding a bloody knife too, I realize, and I feel kind of sick because... how didn't I notice that before?

Belphegor looks like he sometimes does: uncharacteristically serene. He smiles at me.

" _I don't think you want to know. Go to sleep, Helena."_

I don't think I want to know either.


	10. No calm before the storm

Bel's twisted nature only becomes more obvious as time drags on.

It's terrifying to watch, and perhaps even more jarring to realise he's not alone in this. I don't know why I never thought – never suspected – Rasiel's involvement in it all... when in the end, it seems so obvious now: after all, rarely does something that happens to one twin leave the other unaffected. It's a fact about the twins that they both hate- how alike they are, how nothing they do can ever truly separate them from the other. They're identical in more than just looks.

Rasiel, I realise way too late, is just as unhinged as Bel is. They need help. They need support... they need... they need to be stopped. But – of course – nobody ever does.

The servants flock together, keeping their heads and eyes low, voices respectful. They're _scared_ , they whisper to each other when they think they won't be heard: they're scared of the royal twins, scared of what they're capable of and what they'll do when given the chance. There's something unsettling about sadism of someone so young… and sadism they certainly do exhibit. Belphegor and Rasiel have moved on to fighting in a more physical sense – they aim with the intention to cause pain and draw blood, then laugh it off as if this whole thing is nothing more than a game. There's busted lips and bruises and sometimes something even worse than that, but the winner never seems to mind too much.

I catch them, one time, attempting to lift and throw boulders at each other- though they only partly succeed. It's the fact that they even try that worries me.

Ottavia's words come back to me often these days. Her warning, her promise, and it scares me to find out I think she's right. To say I'm scared of my brothers would be a big word, but I am... apprehensive. I think about that at night sometimes and wonder- _what on Earth is wrong with this family?_ I don't even know where to start.

The other day Rasiel kicked a maid for being slow, while Belphegor made one break down and cry simply because he could.

( _You're a Princess,_ my etiquette tutor still tells me daily, _everybody else is beneath you. Remember that.)_

And suddenly Bel and Rasiel's behaviour doesn't seem all that strange anymore. Children will believe anything you tell them, and this is what they've been taught since the day they were born, isn't it? I'm not sure what our father is hoping to achieve with this, but the entire thing is deeply worrying either way.

That Saturday morning starts with another fight. It ends with screams, and blood and terrified maids who are just standing there and _staring._ In that moment, I'm filled with anger- I'm filled with a rage that burns inside me like a bright fire. I'm filled with frustration at everyone and everything going on.

 _Why is nobody doing anything?_

Belphegor is on the ground, Rasiel standing right over him with a knife in his hand and a wide smile on his lips. I'm not sure when or why or even how I do it, but the next moment I'm moving- I'm running at them with all my might and shove my side into Rasiel's ribs like Bel's life depends on it. The impact catches him unprepared and we both go down in a jumble of arms and legs and indignant cries. I hit my head against Rasiel's and we both hiss in pain.

" _What are you doing?! Get off me!"_ He cries at the same time as I yell: _"What's wrong with you?!"_

Bels forearm is a mess- I can't see the damage Rasiel did to it, I can only see the blood, but even so I know. A few feet away from it is the knife Rasiel was using, a standard kitchen knife, still bloody. Before either twin can move, make a grab for it and resume the fight I just interrupted, I dive to the ground and pick it up myself. It is lighter than I expected.

Both of my brothers are staring at me now, Bel cradling his arm, Rasiel looking like he's ready to dodge should I decide to attack him. It seems to me like the staff isn't even breathing at all. All eyes are on me. The tension almost feels palpable.

 _What am I going to do with that knife?_ Will I follow my brothers' example? The very idea disgusts me and I pull myself up. With strong, resolute movements, I make my way across the room. Before anyone can stop me, I open the window and throw the knife out.

The room is silent.

" _Well?"_ I demand, _"Why are you all just standing there?! Call a doctor or something!"_

I shouldn't have to tell them that- _they_ 're the adults, for God's sake! The maids and butlers hurry to do as told, and I turn around to face my brothers. Rasiel is gone already. That leaves me alone with Bel, whose blood has seeped into his shirt by now... it really doesn't look good, but to his credit... he doesn't seem to be crying.

 _Princes don't cry,_ was it?

" _Are you... okay?"_

Mutely, he nods. I nod back.

" _Okay... um, maybe, should we go to your room? Or at least have you sit up? There's a sofa over there."_

In a way that is not the norm for my brother, Bel simply obliges. He hasn't spoken a word since this whole thing started, and it's worrying me a bit. He might unsettle me at times, worry me even more, but Bel is still my brother. I love him and I don't like seeing him hurt.

It doesn't take long for the doctor to arrive. He comes in holding a worn briefcase, followed by Ottavia, and I'm so, so relieved to see her. In this twisted world, it seems like she's my only link to sanity anymore.

I stay by Bel's side as the doctor cleans his wound with a wet cloth and water, washing away all the blood and revealing a series of cuts that are raw and pink and still bleeding. It takes me a few moments to realize the cuts aren't random... they seem to form a word.

R

A

S

I

E

L

 _RASIEL._ The realisation makes me want to look away.

Next to me, Bel also seems to notice his brother's handiwork for the first time. His entire frame stiffens and his lips form a thin line. He looks angry, I think. He stares at the name carved into his skin for a long time, and continues to do so long after the doctor is done bandaging it. The elderly man gives us each a lollipop, but Bel doesn't even seem to notice. Ottavia and him leave the room, but I feel obligated to stay a while longer.

When Bel finally speaks, it's so quiet that I nearly miss it. I ask him to repeat himself.

" _I hate him."_ There's no need to ask who he's referring to. _"I hate him so much."_

I don't know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut. Bel doesn't seem to mind my silence anyhow.

" _One day..._ I'll **kill** him."

The scary thing is, he sounds like he really means it.

~X~

That very same evening, I make my way over to a chamber I've never been to before. I know where it is, because I've seen my brothers come and go countless of times. The door has always seemed too tall, too imposing, for my three-year-old self to cross... but now, as I rap my knuckles against the door, I only feel determination.

Somebody has to do _something_ … and it looks like no one else will.

I wait for a moment before I hear a low but firm command to " _come on in_ ".

My father's office is a large room, filled shelves upon shelves lined with various books. I notice the family crest is depicted on the carpet, purple and golden, as it always has been. In the middle of it all there's a wooden desk, paperwork scattered all around it in a strangely organized fashion.

My father is sitting in his office chair and though he watches as I come in, his attention is back to the document in front of him the moment the door closes behind me. I walk over to him, not allowing myself to become intimidated by my surroundings.

 _"Father."_

" _Yes, Helena?"_ He responds impatiently, letting out a sigh, _"What are you doing here?"_

" _I wanted to speak to you. About my brothers."_

" _Can't it wait?"_

" _No."_

My height is a disadvantage right now because I have to look up a great deal, but at least I sound resolute. My father stills his writing and looks at me… _really_ looks at me. It doesn't happen often, in fact, I kind of wonder if this has ever happened before at all. Usually he just ignores me.

" _Well, what about them? Make it quick, if you can. I'm busy."_

Straight to the point then… that's fine by me.

" _You have to do something to stop Bel and Siel._ _You're the only one they'll listen to. Nobody seems to do anything about it, but their fights keep getting worse and worse. Today, Rasiel-"_

" _If that's all you want to talk about, you can see yourself out."_

The obvious dismissal doesn't sit well with me. It stings. It makes me angry.

" _You're not going to do anything about it?"_

" _Your brothers are Princes, Helena. There's nothing wrong with a little roughhousing; it builds character. Now, please, go do... whatever it is you do in your free time."_

Roughhousing!

" _Rasiel carved his name into Belphegor's forearm! You call that roughhousing?"_ Taking a deep breath, I tilt my chin up, and force myself to remain calm. " _No._ _I'm going to stay right here until you listen to me."_

King Azriel looks down at me then, almost pensively, before his expression settles on something akin to annoyance.

" _I know you're busy ruling a country, and I know you don't really care about anything but your precious heir, but if you'd just take a moment to_ look _at your sons, you'd realize there's something wrong with them!"_

" _That's enough, Helena."_

" _Don't you get it?! If you keep ignoring this- if you just let it go on…_ _ **they're going to end up killing each other!"**_

For a long moment, there's nothing but silence. My father just stares at me.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, then opens it once more.

" _I said that's enough,_ Princess Helena _. Get out of here."_


	11. The massacre

Just like almost every other day at the castle, that morning starts off with a stupid fight as well. Rasiel feeds Bel clumps of worm-ridden mud, Bel pours laxatives into Rasiel's drink and it only goes downhill from there. It's nothing out of the usual, only that today... it all takes a turn for the worst.

It's a frighteningly normal spring day at the castle; the sky is clear and blue, and all of the flowers in Royal Garden are blooming... it's impossible to imagine that anything bad could happen on a day like this. I get through the first half of my day without interruption, without even realising anything is wrong. I have my morning music and art lessons, spend an entire hour being lectured on the do's and don'ts of high society, and take a lunch break around noon.

It's a day like any other, but little do I know that soon my whole life will change forever.

I come across Rasiel as I walk down the stairwell and in a show of surprising cordiality, he actually nods his head in my direction. An acknowledgement: _Good morning_.

" _Did you get permission to skip today's classes?"_ I question and receive another nod in reply. After this morning's incidents, I'm not surprised he'd want to. Laxatives are no fun business. _"Well… hopefully you'll feel better soon."_

" _Yeah. Thanks."_

It's probably the most civil conversation we've ever had. It's sad, truly, that it will also be the only one.

The next time I see Rasiel he's on the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood. There's so much of it... and it's so _red._ I don't think he's even breathing.

The way he's splayed out on the snow-white carpet, slashed open and bleeding, reminds me of that squirrel I found last year. It reminds me of Diamond. Too precise to be a wild animal, too horrific to be a person. Well, _supposedly_.

" _Oh! It's Helena~ Did you want to join the fun?"_

The voice is familiar, young and light, and it makes icy chills run down my spine. I know who it is even before turning around to face him.

" _Bel...?"_

He's covered in blood again, a sight that has become way too familiar for comfort, but this time... he looks different. He's moving too easily, too swiftly, for the blood to be his. There's a knife in his hand and a grin on his lips... it's unlike anything I've ever seen before.

For a moment, I wonder if it's even Bel I'm looking at. This boy _looks_ like my brother, sure enough, but it doesn't feel like him.

" _Are you surprised to see the Prince?"_

" _... the Prince? No, never mind that. What... what happened to Rasiel?"_

Belphegor's grin only grows at my question, like he'd been hoping I'd ask that.

" _I told you, didn't I? I told you I'd kill him."_

It is said with such nonchalance that he might as well have been discussing yesterday's weather. Bel takes a step forward and I immediately back off.

The knife. His grin. The closing distance between us. Bel is the predator, and right now, I'm his prey.

" _Bel-"_

" _Shh, quiet now, Helena. The Prince wants to play a game."_ A game? My back hits the wall, and I have to blink in order to keep the terrified tears at bay. _"I know! Let's play hide and seek! You like that one, right?_

I can't muster up the strength to formulate an answer, but frankly, Bel doesn't seem to care all that much.

" _You hide and I'll be it. The Prince will even give you to the count of twenty to look for a good hiding spot."_

" _Bel-"_

" _Go on now, you wouldn't want to still be standing here when I turn back around."_

Something about his tone tells me he's serious about this – it promises... I'm not sure exactly what it promises, but glancing at Rasiel and his current condition I don't really have to use a lot of imagination.

Bel _giggles_ , and turns around to face the wall. He doesn't start counting immediately, seems to be lost in thought for some time instead.

" _I wonder if you'll bleed as much as Rasiel did! Ah, I'm so excited! My heart won't stop beating!"_

He laughs to himself again, and the countdown begins.

I run out of the room as fast as I can, cursing the noisiness of my shoes; I fear that they are going to give me away, but there's no time for that. I have to go- I have to find _someone_! I have to get help.

I make a sharp turn to the left, into the first room I come across and am met by the sight of death all over again – this time in the form of three maids. Their bodies are scattered across the room, covered in blood, eyes wide open and glassy. The one closest to me had her throat slit open, the other two... I can't even tell. There's too much blood. The stench of it fills my nostrils and I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.

This is Bel's handiwork, I realise. It's his _style_. It looks so much like that dead squirrel that it all suddenly clicks into place; that same brutality, same technique... only that now the morbid piece of art my brother has created is made up of humans, not animals.

 _Murder._ My eight-year-old brother is a murderer.

(There is another part of me, one that I try my hardest to ignore, that thinks it's beautiful – this morbid work of art created by Bel. I could stare at it for ages.)

On wobbly feet, I back out of the room again.

" _Twelve... thirteen... fourteen-"_

I don't have much time now...

In a swift movement, I kick my shoes off, grab them and throw them away, over the railing of the staircase, far away from me.

When I move again, my movements are silent. ( _Eighteen)_ There's a cupboard in the far end of the room, next to one of the maids. ( _Nineteen_ ) I thank God that it doesn't creak as I pull it open.

 _Twenty._

Bel finishes counting just as I close the door, and for a moment there is only silence.

" _The Prince is coming out now, so you better be hiding!"_

Unlike my shoes, Bel's laced boots are entirely silent as he prowls the castle. He moves swiftly, making no unnecessary movements, and the only way I even know he's here is because he's giggling. He's excited, giddy.

" _Where could the Princess be...? Ahh, I wonder!"_

There's some sort of shuffling, accompanied by a ripping sound. The curtains, maybe. I cover my mouth with my hands, too scared to even breathe as I hear Bel pass by my hiding spot. He doesn't stop, doesn't check the cupboard but seems to wander to the table next to it instead.

 _Crash._

I flinch at the sound of the grand, ornamental vase breaking – presumably because Bel ripped the table cloth from right under it. He's so close... I'm sure he can hear my heart beating.

"Will you cry when I kill you? _Rasiel cried too, you know, being the little cockroach he is. The Prince told him- he told him, who's the winner now, Siel?"_

He's wandering away now, I think.

" _Don't worry though- I won't think any worse of you if you cry- you're young, and you're a girl... girls are allowed to cry."_

In a twist of fate so cruel, I feel – for what must be the first time in my life – my coronet starting to slip off my head. I make a movement to catch it, but hit my elbow against the wooden door of my cupboard instead, causing Bel to stop his rambling in an instant.

The crown clatters on the wooden surface, as if mocking me.

 _Fuck._ Fuck you, crown.

" _Huuuh, what could that be~?"_

The double doors of the cupboard are pulled open and Bel's standing right in front of me now, bloody and more terrifying than ever. There's a knife pressed against my neck before I know it and I'm hyper aware of the fact that Bel could slash my throat open like it is nothing. He's done it to at least three adults already, so really, what's keeping him from killing _me_? I'm at his mercy, and I'm not sure mercy is a concept he is familiar with. _"Oh, you dropped your crown."_

It's a silver coronet, much like his own, only that my design is much more feminine. More curves, more decorations. It's a beautiful crown and as Bel places it on my head, I know I'll die wearing it- like a Princess.

" _Ushishi~ What would you do without your big brother to take care of you, Helena? You're so lucky!"_

" _Bel- please-"_

He makes a contemplative sound, grins again and shakes his head.

" _I found you, so it's only fair that I get to kill you. You know what- I thought I'd only kill Rasiel but... it was so much fun! I want to kill more, and more and more! You don't know what it feels like, do you? The adrenaline? The feeling of power over another human being's life? The fear in their eyes. The blood- the blood is so pretty! Don't you think? … So I'll kill you, and then I'll kill our father, and I'll kill_ every single soul _in this stupid castle! You will all burn in hell together!"_

He presses the knife against my throat with more force this time, skin breaks and I can feel rather than see the trickle of blood making its way down my neck.

 _This is it_ , I think, _this is the end._

Maybe my next life won't involve any homicidal royalty... maybe I won't be killed at the age of three.

Looking up at him, I can for the first time in my life see Bel's eyes. They're the same as mine- the same as our mother's- the same shade blue. I think he can see my eyes too, because he suddenly pauses.

He looks down at his knife, at the blood on it, then back at me. I don't dare say anything else at this point. It feels like it takes ages, but finally, _finally_ , so very slowly, he removes the knife from my throat. I allow myself to take a deep breath, but don't feel safe enough to move yet. Bel is watching me intently.

His hand reaches out and wipes off some of the blood running down my neck. He examines it.

" _The Prince has changed his mind."_ He suddenly says. His bangs cover his eyes again so that I can't see them... he's moving away though, and I guess... I guess that's a good sign. _"You can live, but if you get in the Prince's way... he_ will _kill you."_

With that he turns around, and he's out the door.

I collapse the moment Bel is gone- the tears come flowing freely now, and it's not long before I'm sobbing. I'm holding my hands over my heart, feeling it beating wildly against my ribcage and I can't believe _I'm still alive_. I was sure Bel would kill me.

I don't know for how long I stay there, curled in on myself, crying tears of terror and relief and confusion. What just happened? Why did it happen? Bel killed Rasiel. He was- he was going to kill our father too- he was going to kill everyone. He was- he was-

I can't breathe, I feel like I'm not getting enough air. I need to breathe! I'm- I'm-

" _Princess, it's alright. Listen to my voice. Calm down. Everything's going to be alright."_

I don't know when or how Ottavia got there, I only know she's a familiar presence, one that once promised to protect me. I throw myself at my mother's personal maid, wrapping my arms around her neck and crying into her shoulder. She rubs soothing circles on my back, all the while whispering words of comfort and reassurance.

Finally, she pulls me into her arms and I let her carry me away. Away from my brothers. Away from the castle. Away from everything.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that was traumatising... poor Helena**


	12. Milan, Italy

_NATIONWIDE TRAGEDY._

 _ROYAL FAMILY MASSACRE._

 _ONE CHILD DEAD, TWO MISSING._

It's everywhere. On the news, in the newspapers, on bulletin boards... everywhere I look, each time I turn my head, there are pictures of my face, pictures of Bel's face, headlines announcing the murder of Accidia's King and first-born son. The culprit is still unknown, but the country's on high alert, looking for him. It is pure chaos.

I tug at a strand of my hair, twirling it around my finger nervously. The elderly shopkeeper looks at me expectantly.

" _Well, dearie? Are you going to pay for that?"_ She questions, nodding at the bottle of water I'm holding in my hands. I nod, hurriedly digging out some of the coins Ottavia gave me earlier today. The lady counts them, nods her head and smiles at me. _"Thank you. Have a nice flight."_

I thank her and quickly make my way back to the waiting lobby. I spot Ottavia from a distance- she's sitting by our bags still, her blonde wig making her look like she fits right in. Accidia has a lot of light-haired people... actually, Accidia has a lot of people, full stop. I don't think I've seen so many people in years... the airport, even at seven in the morning, is packed with people.

Ottavia is flipping through a magazine, legs crossed in a lady-like manner. She looks very different right now, and it's not only because her hair is blonde. She's out of her uniform, dressed in jeans and a flower-patterned blouse instead- it's amazing how completely normal she manages to look. Especially considering the fact she's on the run with one of the country's most sought for children.

" _Back, Gina?"_ She asks me. I nod my head obediently, and Ottavia smiles. _"Good, we will be able to start boarding soon."_ She returns her attention to the magazine she's reading, some tabloid about people I have never seen or heard about... even there, my face is on the front page. Apparently, the traditional family hairstyle has a whole bunch of disadvantages, one of them being that no one actually knows what the royal family looks like. By pressing my hair back, kept in place by a pink hairband, we've made my face entirely visible. It's the best disguise I could have asked for. Nobody seems to realize it's me, even as I'm standing right in front of them.

There are policemen all around, as well as military people, and none of them as much as glance at me twice. I open my bottle of water and take a gulp. It feels nice, clean, fresh. Just like my new life- we're going to start over now. Turning my gaze to the left, my eyes fall onto the screen announcing our destination.

 _Milan, Italy._

Ottavia knows people that will take us in, but I don't know much more than that. Absently, I wonder where Bel is, what he's doing. The fact that he's still missing and that nobody knows he's the one that killed everyone can only mean he's safe for now... or at least hidden. I don't want to think about my brother too much- I don't even know if I'll ever see him again.

The flight to Italy takes four hours and I sleep through most of it. There are no real luxuries in economy class, but being as small as I am I have plenty of space – I can't complain. Ottavia even lets me have the window seat. All things considered, this is much better than it could have been.

~X~

The man that's there to pick us up from the airport is one of the strangest people I've ever met. This man's name is Toro, he wears an outfit that looks like it was ripped right out of the eighties (wide sleeves, tacky vest and all) and he doesn't know a word of Swedish. He still smiles at me kindly, sticking out his hand and shaking mine firmly. It's a warm handshake, welcoming, and offer him a little smile.

Promptly, him and Ottavia start conversing in a language I can only assume is Italian and – Jesus Christ, don't tell me I'll have to learn a new language right after I spent so much time learning Swedish! He says something and gestures towards me, to which Ottavia replies by something in equally rapid Italian.

We leave the airport and go out to the parking lot.

Toro's car is not any better than his outfit. It's pretty banged up and has something spray-painted on the doors and roof. I can't read it, but there's a lot of what seems like clouds and green lightning in the background. Eccentric... just like its owner. Our bags are thrown in the back, and Ottavia ushers me into the backseat before I can protest...

The inside is quite comfortable at least, even if Toro blasts the music higher than strictly necessary.

The whole experience is very confusing to me. I'm back to understanding nothing of what's being said, so I just sit in the back seat quietly, drumming my fingers on the leather seat and looking at the crowded city sights as we drive by. I've never been to Italy before, but already it seems like such a big change from Accidia. We drive and drive, past tall buildings and busy shops, through the busiest parts of the city before moving on to a less populated area. There's a lot of green around here - trees, grass and flowers. Now this reminds me of the sights that I do know, and I possibly nod off a couple of times.

The next time I open my eyes we are pulling up in front of a big mansion. Toro parks the car, and Ottavia starts to get out. I keep my eyes on her, quickly unbuckling my seatbelt and following her example. I place my smaller hand in hers and we walk over to the main entrance. There are some sort of bodyguards standing outside the doors, they exchange a few quick words with Toro and Ottavia before letting us walk in.

We find ourselves in a big entrance hall. It's nothing compared to the one at the castle but it's still big and unfamiliar enough to be imposing. This is where Ottavia stops and I nearly walk into her backside.

" _Princess."_ She says, suddenly switching to my native Swedish. _"I have some business to attend to. I'll leave you under my brother's watch for a moment, but I promise you I won't be long."_

The prospect of being left alone in an unfamiliar place is not really an enticing one, but I was once a grown woman so I suck it up and nod. I can't help but steal a glance at Toro.

"Your b _rother?"_

Ottavia smiles and nods.

" _Yes, that's my brother. Now be good and wait for me to return, alright?"_

Ottavia disappears through a set of large, wooden doors. I stare at Toro. Toro stares at me. I stare some more. Toro's face breaks out into a friendly smile, he crouches down and asks me something. I just shake my head to indicate I don't know what he's saying.

He doesn't seem to mind to much. Instead he reaches out to take something out of his pocket. It's a bag with candies. And, oh, he's offering one to me.

" _Thank you."_

It's grape-flavoured. Not bad. Apparently satisfied that I liked his treat, Toro takes one himself.

~X~

Nobody tells me exactly what kind of business Ottavia had behind those doors. Instead, when she comes back she's smiling. She says something to Toro, grins, and then turns to me to announce that we're going home.

'Home' is a simple apartment in the outskirts of Milan. It's nothing fancy or extravagant and it's certainly a massive downgrade from my last residence. Ottavia's apartment doesn't have a lot of furniture when we move in- just the basic necessities to get by. She reassures me Toro will bring over a bunch of her old stuff when he's got some time.

We have pizza that night. It's greasy and unhealthy and despite everything, it's the best meal I've had in years. Toro laughs at the way I spill a string of melting cheese all over my plate and gets me a knife and fork to eat with instead- frankly, I'm kind of offended. That's no way to eat pizza!

Toro laughs, and Ottavia does too.

Somehow, I'm happier than I've been in a long, long time.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there guys! I wasn't going to update yet, but then I thought... it's Bel's birthday! That deserves an update, right? So well, there you have it. Technically, it's not Bel's birthday anymore but... it's still the 22nd somewhere, right?**

 **I'll be introducing a couple of new characters from this point onward, Toro being one of them! You'll find out soon enough why these people are important. And if you're thinking Ottavia is kind of suspicious... yeah, she kind of is. Helena's just been through a lot, so I don't think she's ready to tackle that quite yet. It's not random though, I promise.**

 **Anywayyyy~ please leave a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	13. Suspicious things

" _Mum?" I hear myself hum quietly in reply, long, slender fingers kneading through a mop of wet, messy hair. The child is hiding her face from view, hands covering her eyes as I wash her hair. "What happens after you die?"_

" _After you die...? After you die... you go up to the stars, baby."_

~X~

As I lay down and close my eyes that night, images flash before me.

I see my mother, young and beautiful, with a sad smile on her face and a soothing lullaby on her lips. I see the King, too tall and too quiet, an intimidating wall that stretches so high none of us could ever see the sky above. I see Rasiel. The heir, the first-born... the _lucky son_. (Or so everyone had always thought).

Until he died. Until they all did.

I see so many faces, the one after the other, and though I can't always stick a name to the face, they all look familiar. I know them, from walking around the castle, from just existing – they were maids and servants who had once served at the castle. They bow respectfully ( _or is it fear that's in their eyes?_ ), and let me through.

I see my tutors.

I see the Archduke – his execution – all too clearly inside my head.

I turn around and throw a pillow over my face in an attempt to smother these thoughts, but in the end it does nothing to stop my over-active imagination. I don't know why this is happening... why it is happening _now_ , of all times, but that doesn't change the fact that it _is_. I may be laying in a small, bare room, stripped of all my toys and belongings – my belly filled with the best meal I've had in three years... but they... are dead. Gone. _Murdered._ Not one of them will ever breathe, or walk, or talk ever again.

I wonder, absently, who will organise all those funerals. My father and brother don't have any family left – is the state going to do it? The Kingdom?

Will they be buried next to the Queen – forever a family, even though theirs was ripped apart at the seams? It seems like something that would happen in Accidia – the hideous pretentiousness that lurks around every corner.

(I hated it there.)

To a certain extend, though I'm not really sure I understand him at all anymore, I'm sure Bel did too. Maybe that's why he did it – maybe he, too, felt the need to be free.

In the end, I can only wonder.

I manage to catch a news broadcast on the television some days after my arrival in Italy, and though I can't speak the language, I instinctively know what it's all about. It's a bit hard not to, when I find myself staring at large pictures of myself and Bel. I can read our names, I can hear the announcer speaking in rapid Italian, and unwittingly, my lips tilt upwards in amusement. That is _not_ how you pronounce Belphegor.

The woman gestures towards something on the screen, and the number of an emergency hotline appears in front of me. She makes what I assume to be one last plea for the audience to call if they have any information about our whereabouts before the program goes on.

I make a habit out of following the news during those first few days- it's perhaps the only thing I actively do. It's always the same, Bel and I, I and Bel, with our enlarged pictures on the TV screen. I wonder in how many countries our pictures are being projected – wonder how long it will take them to figure out who _really_ is behind the massacre.

Or maybe they already know? After all, wouldn't a missing son be better than a murderer? Maybe Bel is already dead. Maybe they've found him and are keeping him locked up in some remote, super secret psychiatric institution? Frankly, I've got no idea how he could have stayed undetected for this long.

But then one day something strange happens. The night-time news comes on, and as usual I'm sitting on the sofa with the remote control in hand- the audio muted so that Ottavia won't know I'm down here. I wait, and wait and wait, but in the end... our pictures never show up.

They don't show up then, or the night after, or next week. It's as if suddenly, no one's speaking about it anymore. I check some other channels, but it's all the same.

I don't know what to make of that: does it mean they found him? Did they not? Surely, they're not giving up this soon? Is somebody trying to sweep the entire incident under the rug? I don't know why anyone would, but somehow, I know it means something. I just don't know _what_.

Incidentally, this is also the night Ottavia catches me awake and in front of the television for the first time. She ushers me back to bed, but not before I manage to squeeze in a question.

 _("Do you know what happened to Bel?")_

(She says she doesn't, but reassures me that I'm safe here.)

Nice as that is, it's not exactly why I'm asking.

I don't get much sleep that night... though, then again, I never seem to get much sleep these nights in general.

 _(I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, drenched in cold sweat and terrified tears. My heart beats hard against my ribcage as though it's about to burst through skin and bones alike, and for a fleeting moment I'm never sure of where I am. All I can think of are high ceilings and grand four-poster beds. There's a rocking chair in front of the window, illuminated by a single ray of moonlight that's let in through the gap between curtains._

 _All too clearly, I can feel the cool metal kissing my skin, digging deeper – painfully – as my brother stands above me, that terrifying grin stretched out on his lips._

 _It takes me a couple of minutes to calm down, to convince myself that this – the plain room, the single bed, the lamppost outside my bedroom – are all real. This is real. I'm safe. Everything is fine._

 _I can't quite stand the feeling of blankets wrapped around my body – they form a web I can't escape from and the more I try to disentangle myself, the heavier they seem to become. Tears sting my eyes by the time I'm finally,_ finally _able throw the covers off me, relishing the feeling of cool air between my legs. It takes me a couple of moments before I can lie down again._

 _On nights like those, I never sleep much.)_

But that's not even what worries me most...

Strange, isn't it?

I know the concept of death, of course I do – I'm not a child – I understand it better than any three-year-old possibly ever could, just like I understand the severity of my brother's actions: Slaughter. Regicide. Murder. Fraticide. I understand that all very well.

It's logical, that I should have nightmares – I'd be more worried if I didn't.

But there's something strange, too, inside my chest. A feeling that festers and makes my heart beat faster when I think back to that day. Not in fear, but in something different. I think about the blood splattered on the floors and walls. I think about the maids and butlers. I envision the King – defenceless against the insanity of his eight-year-old son.

 _I wonder what he looked like, after Bel was done with him._

I know I should be horrified, disgusted by the thoughts inside my mind. I know _Maria_ would have been... but I'm not Maria anymore, I guess, because despite my best efforts to stop them, the corners of my lips twist upwards. Despite my best efforts not to, there's nothing I want to do more than laugh.

Red really _is_ a beautiful colour.

~X~

When I finally decide to pick myself up again and get down for breakfast, Ottavia is pleased to see some progress. She pours me a tall glass of milk as I seat myself at the table and offers me a plate of freshly-made pancakes. I devour them like I've never even eaten before and this earns me a complimentary pat on the head. (Which is a weird experience in and of itself because... when is the last time anybody did that to me?)

We don't talk about last night, about the question I asked or the fact that I was out of bed that late. We don't talk about anything substantial at all. Instead, we let the radio make the morning background noise for us.

That's what Ottavia is like: quiet, peaceful. It's not like the King's brand of quiet, and I can appreciate that.

When I'm done eating, Ottavia picks up my plate and puts it in the sink.

" _We're going out today, Princess."_

" _Out?"_ I dumbly echo, _"I thought you had to work?"_

" _No, not today... I've got the day off."_

What she does exactly is something that's only ever been explained to me in the vaguest of terms: which is to say, she could either be a rocket scientist, a taxi driver or anything in between because it all kind of fits the description. Either way, she got the job surprisingly fast and she's supporting us both, so who am I to complain?

As I get dressed later that same day, I make sure to pull my hair back all the way – kept in place by a hairband I found lying in the living room – and wrap myself in an outfit that doesn't stand out too much. I haven't been outside since the day I got here, and the prospect of breathing in some fresh air is an enticing one.

I try not to look _too_ excited as Ottavia leads me out the door and down the stairs, have to keep myself from making a run for it, jumping outside and dramatically inhaling the... admittedly not that fresh city air... ah, well, pros and cons and all that...

" _Is Toro going to pick us up?"_ I ask my caretaker as I place my hand in hers. Ottavia shakes her head, glancing down at her watch.

" _No, he's busy today. We're going to have to get there ourselves."_

In front of us there is a long street. It stretches out, going slowly downhill until I can't see much of anything anymore. All around us there are parked cars and apartment buildings and as Ottavia starts to lead the way downhill, I can't help but notice that the buildings look nothing like each other. A lot of the buildings have balconies – some look old, some look newer, some have plants, some just look completely neglected... I spot a balcony in the shape of a half-circle a bit further down. They're all of different lengths and sizes, and it only seems to add to the chaos of the city.

For some reason, the pavement is really uneven too.

A turn to the left, and we reach what seems to be the edge of a park. It looks large from where I'm standing, but then again, from my point of view everything seems large. Though the alphabet is familiar to me, I can't understand what's on any of the signs and inspecting those loses its interest soon enough.

We pass a bunch of small shops, cafes and even more apartment buildings before eventually reaching what seems to be the main road. Ottavia's quick to hail a taxi, and we don't lose any time getting in and letting the driver know where we're going.

" _I'm going to have to teach you Italian one of these days,"_ Ottavia murmurs, absently running her fingers through my hair, grooming it. _"Swedish is just a tad too obvious, don't you think?"_

I can't say I disagree. I catch the taxi driver glancing at us but he looks away as soon as he realises he's being watched right back.

" _Do you really think nobody will notice... who I am? I mean, if they really want to find me..."_

" _People tend to be blinder than you'd think. Now speak up – acting like you have something to hide makes people remember you."_

I suppose that would make sense, and sure enough, raising my voice and pushing some petulant childishness into it seems to immediately make the snooping chauffeur lose his interest in whatever we were saying.

" _Huh... nobody really cares about listening to a child complain, I guess."_ I shrug my shoulders and push Ottavia's hands away from my hair. She obliges easily enough. _"What's wrong?"_

" _Oh, it's nothing, really."_ The maid smiles. _"It's just... you speak as if_ you' _re not a child yourself."_

" _... Oh..."_ Well, I'm... not. Not mentally, at least. But it's not like I can tell her that.

" _You know... it's okay to be a child. You shouldn't try to grow up too fast, my Lady. We're only young once, and you will realise this later, but you don't want to spend your childhood being an adult. In fact – I'd say – being an adult is overrated."_

I look at Ottavia, and I think that something in my big blue eyes – perhaps it's the understanding, or maybe something entirely different that has no place being in the eyes of a three-year-old – breaks her heart.

" _Don't worry too much, I'll take care of everything."_

It sounds so much like that old promise – the one where she told me she'd protect me, that I feel bad now. I decide to change the subject.

" _So, uuuum, how am I going to learn Italian, anyway? Can you teach me?"_

" _Huh? Oh, no, no, of course not. I'm afraid I'm a terrible teacher. I was thinking, maybe you could go to school come September? It could be a good way for you to practice your Italian, and –"_

" _If you suggest public school I'm jumping out of this car, I don't care if it's moving."_

Ottavia looks like she's trying to bite back a grin... and I've got to say, she's failing.

" _You highborn people really_ are _something else, aren't you?"_ She says fondly. _"We'll see about that. We've still got time, either way."_

" _I can't wait until September to learn the language, anyway. That's ridiculous."_

" _No, you're right. We'll just have to find some other way then, won't we?"_

The rest of the ride is spent in relative silence until we reach our destination.

'Our destination' is a nondescript two-story building next to a tattoo shop and as soon as we walk in, I realize that it is actually a hairdresser's. There's only one other client inside, sitting in one of the chairs with a magazine propped up in front of him, which he flips through casually.

The owner of the shop tells him something before moving over to us. She's a plump, short woman, with a warm smile and dimples on her cheeks. She says something to me in Italian, and I just stare back wide-eyed.

"Uh... ciao?"

When she speaks up, Ottavia sounds like she's smiling.

She gestures towards me, and says something which I can only guess must be the Italian equivalent for "we're here for her" and "she needs a haircut". The hairdresser nods in understanding, prattles on about something else, and proceeds to guide me into one of those saloon chairs all at the same time.

I'm, understandably, a bit overwhelmed and don't even argue when she takes off my hairband and lets my hair fall back into its natural position. It's a bit overgrown, but I've got no doubt I look like the girl everyone's looking for. Tilting my head backwards, I meet two pools of brown eyes – they're filled with recognition and yet... she smiles at me.

She just smiles... nothing else.

" _Who are you?"_ I can't help but ask. It's not like she understands me, but Ottavia does, so she replies for her.

" _That's Rena. She's an old friend of mine."_

The woman, Rena apparently, makes me lean back into the sink and starts to wash my hair.

Just how many old acquaintances of Ottavia's are willing to help her hide the fact that she has kidnapped and is hiding a foreign Princess?! The fact that any of this is even happening... astounds me. More than that, it's crossing the "strange" territory and landing straight into "suspicious".

A towel is put over my shoulders and I'm ushered into another chair, this one in front of a tall, tall mirror.

" _What do you want to do with your hair, Princess?"_

" _Can my bangs go? And maybe a little trim for the rest – I'd like to grow it out."_

Ottavia is quick to translate, and Rena does not disappoint.

* * *

 **A/N: Aaand, the bangs are gone. For anyone that's disappointed, remember: Bel's sister or not, Helena is her own person. She didn't like the bangs back when she was in Accidia and she still doesn't like them now. On another note, do you have any characters you'd like to see soon? If yes, let me know! It has to be someone that lives in Italy though, because (obviously) that's where Helena is and is going to remain for some time.**

 **Also, something else: Updates will be slower from now on. I've got some things to take care of and as much as I love this story, I need to focus on studying right now. I'll pick it back up sometime in February.**

 **Any thoughts? Questions? Leave a review!**

 **(Seriously, they make my day)**


	14. Six months

One thing that I notice as I start to spend more time around Ottavia, is that she _really_ doesn't like me getting into contact with knives.

(Or scissors).

(Or any sharp objects at all for that matter).

I guess I can understand _why_ she's baby-proofing the entire place, moving all the knives to drawers that I can't yet reach, but it still annoys me a little. It's not like I'm going to go into a frenzy and start stabbing everything that moves, right?

I tell her that one day and she stares at me for a good few moments before pulling herself together and hurriedly telling me she's got to get ready for work. I shouldn't worry about it, she says.

(But, really, _I'_ m not the one worrying, if you ask me).

Personally, I think Ottavia subscribes to the _better safe than sorry_ philosophy _,_ which is a rather good philosophy to live by, of course.

A few days later, Toro – who is my official babysitter while Ottavia is out – comes to me with a surprise. It's a box filled with paints, colourful papers, brushes and glitter: it's the nightmare of any parent because liquid glue tends to mysteriously get spilled on floors and carpets, glitter dust ends up everywhere, and the only thing that's good at all about the situation is that water paint gets washed off clothes easily enough.

There's a pair of scissors in there, right at the bottom of the wooden box, made of plastic like these things for small children often are and contrary to what Ottavia may believe, there's no revelation – no sudden thirst for blood that rises in me as I pick them up. They're just scissors, pink and tiny... which is good, because my hands are too small to hold a real pair of scissors yet anyway.

I doodle some abstract shapes on a piece of paper and soon enough Toro kneels down behind me to get a look at my artwork. It's positively hideous if you ask me, but the thing about being a child is that no one will ever tell you that to your face. Toro smiles at me and asks me something which I only partly understand.

(When I return from my bathroom break some time later my drawing is stuck to the fridge, kept in place by a round, bright red magnet).

~X~

Halfway through October, Ottavia gets me a tutor. Well... a tutor is not _exactly_ what I'd call it, because if I have to be frank it's just a bunch a children's' books and an equally large pile of old DVDs. She picks one out, puts it in and presses play.

And that is the story of how I end up immersed in a world full of dancing caterpillars and fluttering butterflies that try to form the alphabet by bending their bodies in unnatural shapes and positions. It's really dumb, but it gets the job done.

After the alphabet, come my first words, and after that my first sentences. Once again, I'm confronted by the fact that – given the necessary materials – learning new languages is... much easier to me than it used to be.

Words stick more easily, and I get the hang of grammar just as easily as I did with Swedish – when by the end of the week I'm able to sing a lullaby on command, remembering all of the words _and_ remembering their meaning, the only one that's really surprised by this twist of events is myself. Ottavia even looks and acts like it's completely expected.

" _Your family has always had a certain aptitude for – well –_ everything _they put their minds to_ , _Princess."_ She tells me as she pulls a brush through my long, blonde hair. _"Your brothers taught themselves Latin in just a couple of months... out of spite, mainly. They didn't want the other to be better."_

" _That does sound like them,"_ I hum.

A line of geniuses. (A line of psychopaths.) Where exactly do I fit in, I wonder.

" _Hey, Ottavia. Why did you take me with you, you know,_ that _day?"_

It's a question that's been bugging my mind for ever and ever. Why would Ottavia, a simple maid at the castle, pick me up that day – covered in blood and tears as I was – and take me with her? What does Ottavia gain from this, other than an extra mouth to feed and all of the worries that come with raising a child? In the most basic of terms, isn't what she did defined as kidnapping anyway?

But she held me so tenderly that day, and her embrace was so warm and comforting that I couldn't help but be overcome by a wave of much needed _safety_. I don't feel like Ottavia wants to cause me harm – instead, I feel completely at ease around her.

I trust her.

" _Because I made a promise that I would always protect you."_

I remember those words, uttered long ago by the woman that is now my guardian and halt momentarily. _If anything ever happens,_ she had told me while bandaging up some wound I had gotten while trying to stop one of my brothers' infamous fights, _please look for me. I will protect you._

But that was so long ago, long before the massacre, long before everything that took place in the castle. It was back when... back when things had still been relatively calm. If bitter insults and the disembowelment of animals could ever be considered calm. Yeah, okay. I take that back – even then things had been... worrying, to say the least.

" _Back when you were born, your mother put me in charge of your care. I mean, you probably don't remember her, but she was... a truly remarkable woman. One of a kind."_

I _do_ remember her: the young blonde woman that always used to sit in the rocking chair with me, reading me fairy tales of olden times and singing me the sweetest of lullabies. It's like a distant dream drenched in honey, but it's still there – and more importantly – it's real.

We spent hours in that same rocking chair, overlooking the castle's gardens.

" _You sound like you knew her."_

In response, Ottavia simply hums.

" _I did."_ She admits. _"I became a Royal Maid at her request – not long after her marriage to the King, actually."_ I vaguely remember something I learnt while studying my family tree – though not of royal blood, my mother was born into nobility – the Duchess of a nearby Kingdom. When I recite this, Ottavia nods. _"She was of noble blood, of course, but never a Princess like yourself. She wanted her children to grow up free... she knew when she married a King though, that this was but a dream. Noble children, and much less the ones descended from royalty, don't get a chance at real freedom."_

It's quite ironic, I can't help but think, how her middle child's murderous spree fulfilled the Queen's dearest wish – if only partly. I'm sure it's not how she had envisioned it, because one of her sons is dead, the other is missing in action and her only daughter has been willingly kidnapped by her personal maid. I think, even though I barely knew her, that she wouldn't have wanted us separated. She never liked Bel and Rasiel's fights either.

But I'm here now, aren't I? Away from Accidia and away from the King and his poisonous words. There are no classes, no restrictions, no limitations... no anything. _I_ shape my own days and schedules, _I_ choose my own clothes and _I_ am the one that can tell myself what to do every day. There is no real luxury to speak of in this tiny apartment in the heart of Milan, but I do think I'd miss it if I were to ever return.

Truth be told, I like it here.

" _Do I have to go back?"_

The thing I like about Ottavia is that she's frank. If she decides to tell you something, she doesn't sugarcoat things or tell you white lies – she says them the way they are. If she wants to keep a secret, she'll keep a secret. Either way there's no half truths – it's everything or nothing with Ottavia.

" _Maybe one day you will,"_ She says, putting down the brush and placing it on the bedside table. I lift the duvet that's on my bed, get under it and Ottavia spends a moment tucking me in. Finally, she gives my head a gentle pat. _"That won't be for a while though – Accidia hasn't been without a real ruling body for a long time now and Prince Belphegor's actions – on top of both of your disappearances – should have been enough to throw the Kingdom into complete disarray. They'll have to reassemble themselves, and in time they might find you. You still have a duty as an heiress, no matter if your gender puts you out of favour."_

It is as I thought, then: Accidia isn't something that I can just run away and hide from, whether I want it or not, it will sooner or later come back – either to claim me... or to do something worse. I dearly hope assassination isn't in my future, but the way my life has been going, I wouldn't be too surprised if it was.

I'll have to prepare, either way. Read up on things. Find a way to keep in touch with the situation in Accidia if I can. I was caught unaware and unprepared once in my life already, and that will last me for a lifetime. I'm already making a mental checklist of things to do, take into consideration and check up on when Ottavia speaks again.

" _There's no way to know what lies ahead... they might come for you, but maybe the Council of nobles will grow drunk on power while you're away and won't want the monarchy back. Maybe, though it is unlikely, your brother will take on the throne... The only thing we can know for sure right now... is that we don't know what's going to happen in the future."_

~X~

I turn four years old on November 26th.

It's an important milestone because it marks that I've been living with Ottavia for nearly half a year now... and for a four-year old... that's a pretty long time if I do say so myself. I almost can't believe it's been that long, but sure enough, when I look at myself in the mirror these days there's no telltale crown nor bangs and my hair is quite a bit longer than it used to be. It reaches my shoulders now, completely straight up until about three quarters of the way, where it curls slightly outwards at the tips.

My big blue eyes are still too big for my childish face, my cheeks pudgy and round and child-like but I guess I've grown a bit because the baby blue pyjamas I'm wearing are starting to become too small for me. I reach under my bed for a pair of striped socks that morning because wood or not, the floor is still quite cold during the winter.

On the morning of my birthday, I wake up feeling enervated. It's a cold day outside, and it looks like it snowed the night before but I'm warm and comfortable and it takes me an extra ten minutes or so to convince myself to get up and out of bed.

I notice the scent of freshly-baked pancakes as soon as I leave my room and faithfully follow it to the kitchen. Sure enough – there is Ottavia, flipping a pancake as she keeps half an eye on the TV. I make my way to the table, tilting my head so that I can see what's going on as well.

It seems to be the morning news. The lady from all those months ago, the same one that had been tasked with reporting the disappearance of Princess Helena and Prince Belphegor, is now talking about something that took place in Sicily last night.

I'm not sure what it's all about because the screen turns black before I can actually hear anything the announcer is saying. Instead, Ottavia stands in front of me, with a plate of pancakes in her hands and a smile on her lips.

"Happy birthday, Princess."

~X~

Ottavia's gift to me is a cell phone. It's sleek and thin and looks rather expensive but the brand isn't any I've ever heard of. There's a single crown etched on the casing, and it looks just like the coronet hidden in the depths of my closet.

"I know you don't need it quite yet," Ottavia tells me, "But I'll feel much better if you have it anyway."

(I receive another gift on that same day. It's not signed and there's no card: in fact, the only thing inside the box is a weirdly-shaped knife.)

(Who even sends a knife to a four-year-old?)

~X~

Strange birthday present aside, the weirdest thing up to date happens a few weeks after my fourth birthday.

And keep in mind, I've seen a lot of weird crap in my short lifetime. But this one... this one takes the cake for sure.

It starts with the mechanical ring of the doorbell. It's Saturday – a lazy day filled with lounging on the couch and watching Italian soaps – and at the moment, Ottavia's in the shower. I consider letting the person outside wait, but the bell rings again, and again, and in the end it's just grating on my nerves.

So I get up from the sofa, slip my feet into a pair of slippers and shuffle over to the front door. I get a chair to stand on and look through the peephole, but as far as I can tell the hallway's empty. The bell rings again.

"Who's there?" I ask loudly in Italian, pumping some authority into my voice. I live by the principle that if I try hard enough, I will at some point sound even remotely like an adult and be taken seriously.

The voice that answers sounds, if possible, even more squeaky than mine.

Okay, what the hell?

"I'm looking for Ottavia. This is her apartment, right? I do believe I have the right address."

"Uh, yeah... " I clear my throat. "Who are you though?"

"I'm a colleague of hers. Is she not home?"

Yeah, that's definitely a kid's voice. I hop off my chair and push it aside.

"She's here. Just... busy, right now."

Stupid as this action seems in retrospect, I unlock the door and open it just slightly – enough to poke my head through but not enough to let anyone else through. Even then I don't see anybody and I have to look down before I'm met by a face.

And...

"Oh..."

It's... a baby? A really weird baby, mind you... but still a baby all the same. His hair is a shade of shocking green, a mess that sticks up in all directions, and he's staring at me through a pair of big, round glasses. He looks... entirely unfazed, which is kind of a creepy expression to see on a baby's face.

He's also wearing what looks to be a white lab coat, a green shirt and a white tie. Around his neck there's a big green pacifier.

I... don't have anything intelligent to say right now, so I don't.

"I've got to say... I didn't think Ottavia had a kid. Though, I guess _that_ 's why she didn't want me coming over, then. Can I come in?"

I take a look left and right, but the hallway's entirely deserted except for this strange baby. Its speech is too advanced, expression too controlled... there's something _unnatural_ about him. Something that gives me the creeps.

Still, I can't very well leave a kid standing out in the hallway – my coincidence wouldn't allow it – so I open the door wider and step aside.

"Sure... hey, are you parents with you or something...?"

My question is completely ignored. And okay, that's kind of insulting because for once in my life I'm actually the oldest one here. I'm about to speak up about this when I suddenly realize that there's something else coming in through the door.

And it's not a baby.

It's not the baby's parents either.

" _Sweet baby Jesus!"_ I screech, backing off as fast as I can and nearly tripping over the chair behind me in the process. I turn around and climb on top of it instead, clutching to the backrest like it's a lifeline.

There is. An. _Alligator._ In. The. Living room.

An ALLIGATOR.

In the LIVING ROOM.

 _Why is there an alligator in the living room?!_

On the list of things that are wrong with my life (and there are many), I never expected _this_ to be an issue. The baby in the lab coat doesn't look bothered though, and the alligator just wanders off to some place behind the sofa.

Yeah, no. I'm not getting off my chair.

Not in a million years.

"So, who are you? Ottavia never mentioned you." Despite the seemingly harmless small-talk, I can't help the feeling that I'm being seized up somehow, evaluated.

"I'm her... um, Ottavia's my mum..." The single raised eyebrow tells me he doesn't believe me, not in the slightest, but he doesn't comment on it. Partly, I suspect, because he doesn't really care.

"Of course." He murmurs. "Say, how would you like to participate in some experiments?"

"Excuse me?"

"Experiments. _Science_. It just so happens I need a test subject, and well, you're so conveniently here."

I start to laugh, because this _has_ to be a joke, but several seconds pass and I'm not joined by any laughter. Well... that's... worrying.

"Ha... haha... well I'll, uh, just call Ottavia then. I mean my mum. Yeah, I'm going to get my mum – just stay there." I jump off the chair, making a safe landing on the carpet, and run out of the living room. I don't lose any time knocking on the bathroom door.

"Ottavia! Hey, Ottavia!"

Mere seconds later, Ottavia's head is poking through the door, a towel wrapped around her wet hair.

"Princess? What's wrong?" She asks.

" _Okay, so, the bell rang? And now there's a baby in the living room, and there's an alligator, and he was – he was talking about experiments – I don't know what's going on but he's asking for you and –"_

Ottavia doesn't even bat an eyelash at me suddenly switching to Swedish, all she does is frown and say a word I've never heard before but can more or less guess the meaning of.

" _Why is he here?!"_

" _I don't know!"_

"Well, did you tell him anything?"

" _I, well, I told him you're my mum... but I don't think he believed me._ Ottavia, there's an _alligator_ in our living room!"

Ottavia sighs, runs the palm of her hand down her face, and looks back up at me. This time, her eyes are resolute.

"Okay, look, just leave him there. Go to your room and stay there. I'm going to deal with Verde."

I nod.

Yeah, sounds like a good plan.

10/10.

From inside my room, I can hear Ottavia's muffled voice five minutes later – angry and exasperated and demanding to know why Verde showed up at our apartment out of nowhere. They move outside to where I can't hear them... and, well, I guess that's the end of that.

I just met a baby in a lab coat that could _talk_. And it wanted to experiment on me.

Can my life get any weirder?

 _(In hindsight, that might not have been the best question to ask)._

* * *

 **A/N: Guess who's back... that's right, it's me! Wooh! Things have finally calmed down so I'll hopefully be able to update more often from now on. I'm actually really tired right now and can't think of anything worthwhile to write, so I'll just say: I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!**

 **In case anyone was wondering, we'll slowly start easing into the mafia stuff now. I'm so excited!**

 **Questions? Thoughts? Just leave a review!  
**


	15. Weekend at Toro's

There comes a time in one's life when they can't help but wonder: _Can my life get any weirder than this?_

Well, take a piece of advice from the expert and listen to me when I say: **don't**. Just do yourself a massive favour and don't ask that question. Ever. The universe loves challenges.

(Because the answer is yes.

Yes, it can and _will_ get weirder.)

~X~

"Alright, here we are..."

There's a faint _click_ and the sound of a key being turned reaches my ears... a door is pushed open right next to me, and before I know it Toro's pulling me inside with him. He shakes his head wildly after he closes the door again, rather like a dog, and I grimace at the small wet droplets that hit my face.

In the distance, I can hear the loud, rumbling sounds of thunder.

Toro's apartment is warm and dry – a stark but welcome contrast to the pouring rain outside – and I can't help but let out a sigh of relief at that realisation. My clothes are soaked, my hair all floppy and wet and dripping on the moss green carpet beneath my feet. And speaking of my feet... I'm not even sure if I can still feel them at this point. I drop my backpack on the ground and wrap my arms around myself once more, running my hands up and down my sweater in rapid but rhythmic movements.

My lips tremble and so does the rest of me. Man, December rain is _not_ fun.

When we left Ottavia's apartment roughly half an hour or so ago, neither of us had actually expected the rainstorm that was brewing in the horizon. I mean, sure, the sky was dark... but then again it had been like that for a few days now. It figures, of course, that that should all change ten minutes into our walk.

Toro leaves the foyer and comes back a few moments later, carrying two large, fluffy blankets. He wraps one around my shoulders and as I pull it closer, I don't think I've ever been happier to see Toro in my entire life. I stutter out a "t-t-thank you" and he ruffles my hair, saying something about dry clothes and a shower. Nothing sounds better right now.

I spend more time in the shower than I probably ought to, but the warm rivulets of water rushing down my shoulders keep me rooted where I am. When I had stepped into the shower some time earlier my lips had had an unhealthy blue hue to them, but as I leave it and catch a look of myself in the mirror now I can barely make out a silhouette at all. I wipe my hand across the fogged-up glass and am met by a bright pink face, flushed cheeks and a child that at least looks human again.

I don't bother with drying my hair, just hurry up and dress myself with the fresh pair of clothes Toro left outside the door for me.

"All good, Principessa?" He questions as I shuffle into the living room. I nod and Toro mutters something that kind of sounds like "good" before he goes on drying his curly hair with a towel.

"... What should I do with these?" I ask after a moment or two, vaguely gesturing towards the ball of cold, soppy clothes I'm still holding in my hands. Toro kind of shrugs,

"Eh, don't worry about it. Just stick it in the dryer – or actually, give it here."

Toro takes my clothes and wanders off to another room. It isn't long before I can hear the mechanical whir of what I assume to be the dryer being started up. Now that I'm no longer on my way to becoming a human icicle, I have the time to take a look around me.

Toro's apartment is what one might call... messy. It still has that homey feel to it, I guess, but unlike Ottavia's place, there are things scattered all around, from old clothes, to random blankets, to a remote control under the sofa and what looks like last week's newspaper at my feet. It looks lived in, at least, and despite the mess it looks rather well-cared for. There isn't any take-out or empty soft drink cans laying around despite the fact that I had heard Ottavia complain about that just a few days ago. Then again, I guess he might have cleaned up a bit in honour of my visit?

I'm not sure and I shrug it off, kneeling down to pick up the newspaper that's lying at my feet instead. I'm planning on depositing it on the table but before I can do that there's something else that catches my eye.

It's not the newspaper... it's what lies beneath it.

I nudge a wet jacket out of the way with my socked foot, a cold chill running down my spine – my _god_ , I hate cold weather – and fix my eyes on the thing that caught my attention in the first place. It's bright pink and as I kneel down and pick it up, I realise it seems to be a grenade of some sort. A toy.

Huh. Toro had this in his pocket...?

On a whim, I throw it in the air, watch it go up and down again and catch it with ease. It's well-made, I guess, not that I know much about what actual grenades are supposed to look like, but its colour strikes me as... odd.

Upon closer inspection, something seems to be etched on the lever. It's small, barely visible even, but bringing it closer to eye-level I can make out what looks like a pair of... horns...? Right beneath it, something is written. _Bo... vi... no...?_

Bovino? Bovine? Like... cattle? Well, that's a weird name for a brand.

In a stroke of lucky brilliance, it occurs to me that, actually, that sounds kind of familiar! I balance the toy grenade on the windowsill and reach for my backpack. It is discarded on the floor, right where I left it when I came in earlier. I don't lose much time digging through it, grabbing Ottavia's cell phone and pulling it out.

Flipping it over, my suspicions are confirmed: much like on the grenade that fell out of Toro's pocket, that same logo is printed on my phone. Which is weird – since when are phones and toys made by the same company? I've never even heard of a Bovino company before?

"So what do you want for dinner?" Toro's voice cuts through my thoughts. I guess I'd been distracted because as I look up I find him standing close to me, picking up his wet jacket and slinging it over his forearm. "We could order some pizza, if you'd like that?"

"That sounds great." I agree with a smile. "No pepperoni for me though."

"As you wish, Your Highness." My temporary caretaker winks, takes a bow and I can't help but giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. By the time it occurs to me that Toro's toy grenade is still on the windowsill, the man has already turned around. I quickly reach for it.

"Hey, Toro, wait!" I call. "You forgot this!"

I throw the toy in his direction; it should be a simple enough catch but for some reason Toro is caught completely off guard by it. With the look he gives me you'd think I was throwing a _real_ grenade at his face. Nevertheless he fumbles for a moment, dropping his jacket in order to catch it.

A nervous laugh escapes his lips.

"Are... you okay?"

"Me? Y-yeah – I'm fine." Toro's laugh sounds kind of strained right then and I can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "You just caught me by surprise, Principessa. Where did you uh – where did you find this?" He's quickly pulling open a drawer, throwing the toy inside and slamming it shut.

Is he... sweating?

"It was on the floor. I think it fell out of your jacket, or something?" On second thought, that does sound rather like snooping, so I quickly attach an apology to my explanation. Then, because I can't help but be curious, I ask - "So, do you babysit often?"

The look Toro gives me is a weird one, like he can't figure out why on Earth I'd ask such a question.

"No, actually. Ottavia's more the babysitting kind."

I nod. I can believe that.

Speaking of Ottavia, I take out my phone and quickly text her to let her know we got to Toro's place safely and that she shouldn't worry. This morning, Ottavia got a call about an impromptu business trip of some kind – I'm not sure what it's all about but about an hour after being woken up my bags were packed, Toro was standing at our front door and Ottavia was in the middle of forcing an entirely too large pile of paperwork into a bag that was too small.

The pizza Toro orders arrives at about six – I feel bad for the soaked teenager at the front door and make sure tip him extra before returning to the living room. The box is hot in my hands and the smell that wafts from it is simply heavenly. Toro voices his agreement from where he's sitting by the TV, setting the table. Well... the coffee table anyway.

There are paper plates and paper towels waiting for me and as if on cue, my stomach grumbles.

"So, this business trip..." I broach the subject right as Toro reaches out for his third slice of pizza that eveing, when he's becoming kind of bleary – lulled to a subdued state by the warm meal and pleasantly dry clothes. He makes an acknowledging sort of sound which encourages me to go on. "Does it... have anything to do with Verde?"

Ottavia wouldn't tell me when I tried to ask and, similarly, Toro sits up straighter at my question. He looks alarmed.

"You know about Verde?"

"I met him once." I admit, "He was... umm... interesting." Well... interesting is one way to describe it. There are, if I'm honest, a bunch of other adjectives that would fit the talking baby just as well. But interesting _is_ a rather accurate description. "He mentioned that they were colleagues."

I'm still in safe waters, because all that I've said up to this point is true. Toro slowly nods.

"Yeah. Well... interesting isn't the first thing that comes to mind."

"He did have that mad scientist vibe going on about him." I recall and this actually makes Toro laugh. He says something about how he couldn't have described it better.

It's not just a _vibe_ , I know.

For many hours after Verde had left our apartment that night, I had lied awake in my bed... wondering. Pondering. Just thinking. It's in the nature of humans to be curious, and that little baby had peaked my interest like no other.

There was something _off_ about him, something that just didn't sit right with me and the more inquisitive part of me wouldn't rest until I had figured out exactly what it was. There's no real way to describe what I felt when I met him other than by saying that Verde simply had an overwhelming presence.

Despite being in the body of a child – despite looking no older than a regular two-year-old – when I stood in front of him... I felt like I was standing in front of somebody else. Someone who towered over me instead of the other way around – someone I should regard with caution. There was something about the presence of this baby that made my skin _crawl_ with discomfort.

And then a thought hit me - it was the _eyes._ Never before had I ever seen eyes like those on the face of a baby. They were large and green... and they were completely emotionless. Not a trace of childish innocence. They were the eyes of an adult – and not a good one at that.

Which set me thinking... how _does_ a baby end up with eyes like those? The only possible answer I can come up with is that... he's not really a baby.

My heart flutters with hope, with curiosity, with fear – because what if... what if I'm not the only one? If _I_ ended up reborn with the memories of an adult life still attached... wouldn't it stand to reason that the same thing could have happened to someone else as well?

My suspicions only become further cemented as I spend a few hours on the internet over the next couple of days, looking up any information about this mysterious "Verde". There's some accounts that stem from decades passed, about a brilliant up and coming young mind – a scientist that went by the name Verde. There's all sorts of articles about him, usually accompanied by complicated formulas and obscure theories that make me twitchy with excitement. These are some _groundbreaking_ discoveries right here! And to make them all those years ago...! I can't help but wonder: _how_? How had I never heard about any of this during my past life? But waking up the science geek in me isn't what I started this search for and as I force myself to move on I realise that after a certain point onward... all traces of Verde suddenly seem to disappear.

His name dives up again, but never on official sites. What little information I do find, I find in forums – bits and pieces of discussions that make little to no sense. I do see a picture though and there's no doubt about it – that is the same baby that came to visit Ottavia.

Whatever it is that's going on with this Verde person... I want to get to the bottom of it. Of course Ottavia won't tell me, so I guess I'm on my own for this one.

"So, does it?"

"Huh?"

"Ottavia's business trip. Does it have anything to do with Verde?"

"Oh..." Toro hesitates. "I'm not sure. You should ask Ottavia about that, actually."

It's a bit disappointing, but I nod my head either way. Knowing Ottavia, she won't tell me anything. I pull my legs to my chest, a sulky pout on my face... I guess... I'll just have to find another way.

~X~

What starts out as an innocent enough weekend at Toro's, ends in nothing short of complete disaster.

I guess I can't complain about Saturday – Saturday was pretty okay after changing into some dry clothes and getting something to eat. Saturday was good. It's on Sunday that things go... awry.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I manage it.

I guess it starts with the park. Or maybe it starts with Toro, because it was his idea to go to the park in the first place. It's chilly outside but the clouds are gone and for what feels like it might be the first time in a couple of weeks, I can finally see the blue sky as I look up. It's a nice day to be outside... only that... it doesn't stay that way.

Toro ditches me on a bench as he wanders off to get us some hot dogs, and that is when I hear it. "It" being the sound of something cracking... it sounds like a branch, though I can't be sure, and it comes from behind me.

Curiously, I look over my shoulder but there's nobody there. It is then that I notice, in fact, that the park seems strangely... deserted. I lick my lips and chalk it up to paranoia – Toro should be back any moment now. I take my phone out of my pocket and open up a game Tetris. I don't get far though because this time I hear some rustling.

A strange feeling of unease washes over me.

I text Toro, asking him if he'll be back soon, and then all hell breaks loose.

A song rings out loud and clear from behind me and it startles me so much that I literally jump. I scramble to get off the bench, away from the shrubbery behind me because that's exactly where it's coming from. I hear someone cursing!

"I _told_ you to put it on silent!"

"Shit! Shit shit shit!" The next thing I know, a man in a suit is climbing out from behind the trimmed hedge, holding a ringing cellphone in his hand and looking both slightly intimidating and panicked at the same time. "The boss is going to kill us."

"Kill _you_ , you mean." The voice that speaks up belongs to a woman but I don't have the time to see her – I turn around, intending to run away, but as usual my universal bad luck in terrible situations is at work because I run right into a second suited person. She catches me by the forearms, keeping me steadily in place even as I try to struggle out of her grip. "I'm sorry about this, kid."

I don't know who these people are or what they want with me, all I'm aware of is a sharp pain to the back of my head before everything turns black.

* * *

 **A/N: Helena seriously needs some peace and quiet in her life... unfortunately, fate (AKA the author) doesn't really care. Poor, poor child.**

 **So, who do you think those two people were? They're part of the KHR cast, I can tell you that much.**

 **Any thoughts, questions? Let me know by reviewing!**


	16. The hostage situation

Sawada Iemitsu has a problem.

Well, to be frank, Sawada Iemitsu has _many problems_ and every single one of them is somehow connected to the Varia. The most obvious of these problems would be that three days ago the Vongola's Independent Assassination Squad committed mutiny.

Iemitsu wasn't there at the time of the attack itself but when he arrives a couple of hours later, the bodies are still fresh and the ruin is laid bare for everyone to see. There is smoke everywhere, the stench of blood is still in the air, and no matter which way he looks the Vongola is scrambling to reassemble itself. The Ninth meets him at the door and when Iemitsu demands to know who it was – which Famiglia dared do this... the answer is one that takes him by surprise.

 _It was the Varia,_ and even worse... it was _Xanxus_ that had lead them.

~X~

Out of the whole Varia, Iemitsu thinks, it's probably their youngest that stands out the most. Prince the Ripper is a few days shy of his ninth birthday, and as far as the leader of the CEDEF can tell, he fits right in with the rest of his comrades. It is this fact, if anything, that makes him stand out all the more.

 _ **(The boy is sitting with his back against the wall when Iemitsu comes in, and as Belphegor tilts his head up, the man is met by a grin.)**_

When he picked the boy up from his homeland all those months ago, recommended and tipped off about his whereabouts by that acquaintance, Iemitsu had thought that... surely... _this must be a mistake_. The boy standing in front of him had been scrawny and pale, and looked like he hadn't eaten or showered in a few days.

This kid... _couldn't_ be Varia Quality.

But appearances deceive, don't they?

 _ **("Did you manage to scrape your comrade's blood off the floor yet?")**_

Nobody had actually thought the young Prince would survive for more than two days in the Varia castle until Belphegor made it from rookie to Commanding Officer in less than a month.

And you know what? That should have been their first sign.

 _ **(Iemitsu's jaw clicks audibly and he has to fight to keep his calm – to stick to the plan. He puts his hand inside his pocket and takes out something Belphegor can't see.)**_

Just like the rest of the Varia, Belphegor is dangerous... but how do you control a bunch of lunatics whose only loyalty is to a man encased in ice?

 _ **("I have something that might interest you, Belphegor.")**_

How do you control a child that holds more power than any child ever should?

 _ **("Oh, is that so?")**_

How do you control _Belphegor_ , who allegedly has an entire Kingdom at his beck and call – he is the heir to a throne so soaked in blood and deceit that nobody really wants to get involved.

 _ **(Prince the Ripper reaches out for the slip of paper, turning it over before he suddenly – for the fraction of a moment – freezes.)**_

You find something else to twist, to exploit, to _use_. Iemitsu doesn't have to like it, he just has to find a way.

 _ **(It's a picture of his sister).**_

Which is the idea that leads him to his current situation.

Namely-

"HYYYAAAAA!"

A blur of movement is all Iemitsu has the time to see before a tiny girl is standing right in front of him, an expensive lamp being swung at his kneecaps. He moves out of the way on pure reflex, and the lamp shatters against the floor with a loud, sharp CRACK!

Another beat passes before he has to move again, this time to dodge an expensive ornamental vase that's worth several million euros. It is – or _was_ – one of the Ninth's personal favourites, he realises as he watches it soar through the air. A souvenir from a trip to China. It hits the floor and breaks into a thousand pieces.

" _STAY AWAY!"_

Admittedly, when Iemitsu had sent out his people to keep an eye on Belphegor's infamous little sister... this is not exactly what he had had in mind.

No, he hadn't thought Turmeric and Oregano would be found out, just like he hadn't counted on them panicking and kidnapping the little Princess. He hadn't expected that they would bring her back to base either.

A phone call to a furious maid-slash-guardian later, and Iemitsu is where he stands right now... he sometimes wonders why these things can never go smoothly.

The little girl is standing behind the bed, her body held in a position that suggests she's ready to attack at any given moment. Her eyes – two orbs of the brightest blue – are narrowed testily, watching his every move.

Prior to meeting her, Iemitsu had expected a knife-wielding little maniac to come at him – much like her brother, but smaller. But now that he stands in front of her, he sees no assassin – no bloody murderer that taught herself how to throw knives. He just sees a scared little girl.

Her stance is all wrong, and her legs are shaking.

This is the first time the head of the CEDEF realises that the girl in front of him is not – in fact – a younger and shorter version of Prince The Ripper. There's no maniacal grin on her lips. No knives flying left and right. No blood. No chilling snickers.

She looks scared, and miserable, and... strangely courageous.

For a moment, Iemitsu finds himself wondering if Oregano and Turmeric even have the right girl. This girl can't be related to the Varia's demon child.

But no... he remembers her picture, internationally broadcast for several weeks or months even before the Vongola made it otherwise. Though a bit older and without the bangs covering her eyes, it's clearly the same child.

Same nose. Same chin. And her lips tilt downward in dissatisfaction in just the same way as Belphegor's do when he doesn't get what he wants. This is her: Helena, the first and only Princess of the Kingdom of Accidia.

Iemitsu clears his throat, holding out his hands in a placating manner and moving slowly as to make himself appear as non-threatening as he can.

"Look, Helena, right?" He speaks, "Or do you prefer Princess? Princess Helena? Anyway – calm down – I can... explain."

If anything, his words seem to make her even more suspicious. She takes another step back, bracing herself for another attack. Iemitsu eyes the wooden figurine she's holding with trepidation.

"Who are you?" She demands. "Why am I here?"

Which answer is the one that guarantees the ancient artefact in her hands _doesn't_ get thrown across the room? Clearing his throat, Iemitsu decides to go with:

"My name's Iemitsu, and I'm an acquaintance of your caretaker's. As for why you're here... well, this is where things get a bit... complicated." She gives him a look that spells _well you better un-complicate it then_ and Iemitsu hurries to add "Don't worry though, I can explain! Like I said! Now... why don't you... put down the figurine?"

She doesn't. Instead, she grips it more tightly, bringing it closer to her chest.

"Were you sent by the government of Accidia?"

"No, no. I wasn't sent by anyone. I work for the Vongola – well, I'm an external adviser – we're... allied with the Bovino Family. I don't want any trouble."

And that is when Iemitsu realises something else about the Princess of Accidia... she might... actually not know anything about the mafia yet.

...Oops?

Princess Helena looks confused for a moment, then something akin to recognition sparks in her eyes.

"Bovino... Family?" She repeats slowly, uncomprehendingly. "What's the Vongola?"

But already he can see the gears in her mind working – if she's anything like her older brother, Princess Helena is a far cry from stupid. Now that he's tipped the first domino, it's only a matter of time before the rest fall.

"Nothing. I mean, we're a... construction company...? Okay, no no no! Put the figurine back down again! We're not a construction company... we're... we...protect people." Which is neither a lie nor an exact truth – they do protect people, but for shadier purposes than one might assume. Either way, the girl doesn't look like she's actually buying it.

"Well... why did your construction company kidnap me?!"

Good question. Unfortunately -

"See, we didn't actually _mean_ to. Oregano and Turmeric panicked and..." He kind of shrugs, to which the Princess gives him an annoyed 'you can't be serious' glare.

"Do your people accidentally kidnap people often? Because if they do, I really think that's something your so-called company should work on." Iemitsu ignores the jab.

"Here, how about I let you out of this room and get you something to eat while we wait for Ottavia to pick you up?"

This time, the figurine is actually thrown at him. It swishes past his head and hits an antique cabinet that's been in this room since Secondo's time and reign... Iemitsu doesn't have the heart to check if both or either of the two survived the collision.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He considers trying to tell her he won't hurt her or anything... but... that sounds awfully like something someone with that exact intention would say so he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and suggests calling the girl's caretaker instead.

She gives him a suspicious look and demands she dial the number herself, but as soon as Ottavia actually answers, it works like a charm. The two talk for a moment and when Princess Helena returns the phone there's still a lingering trace of distrust in her eyes. She does accept the proposal for dinner though, and Iemitsu supposes that's progress.

He quickly herds her out of the room.

(He doesn't want anymore of the Ninth's personal belongings damaged).

~X~

 _ **(For what seems like an eternity, Prince Belphegor is entirely silent.**_

 _ **There is something dangerous about Belphegor's silences, Iemitsu thinks, something... unsettling. Normally, the boy loves the sound of his own voice – he loves being the centre of all attention. Like this... it just seems wrong.**_

 _ **He's tense, completely motionless for what feels like ages, and Iemitsu allows himself to hope that... maybe it worked. Maybe this demon child**_ **does** ** _have a weak point._**

 _ **Then, Belphegor starts laughing.**_

" _ **What's this...**_ **blackmail?"** ** _He utters the word as if he doesn't believe it – as if the very thought of it is absurd. "Ushishi~ what are you going to do? Threaten to hurt the Princess?... Threaten to_ kill _her?"_**

 _ **Or maybe (just maybe) this wasn't such a good idea after all.**_

 _ **They say the laughter of children is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world – well – whoever said that has clearly never met Belphegor. His laughter chills Iemitsu to the bone.**_

" ** _Are you peasants really as dumb as you look?_ What makes you think the Prince won't kill her himself, before you can get to her?"**

 _ **He could be bluffing. He knows it's possible. But despite all his expertise, Iemitsu really can't tell.)**_

* * *

A/N: So... I know I said that I WASN'T going to write other people's P.O.V.s but... it was too tempting. This also means that I will, eventually, write a chapter from Bel's P.O.V. Most likely that will be whenever they meet again, so be prepared for that!

About Bel in this chapter: well, what can I say... he's a messed up little kid. Would he really kill Helena? Who knows :)

Please leave a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter!


	17. How is this my life

So … apparently …. I got kidnapped by the Italian Mafia.

Yes, you read that right: I, Princess Helena Artemis – second heir to the throne of Accidia, got kidnapped by theItalian Mafia.

I'm not sure whether that thought makes me want to laugh or cry or maybe do both at the same time, but it strikes me as odd that nobody has addressed my situation yet. Because, _seriously,_ how is this my life?

(What's up next? A dystopian future? An all-powerful villain that wants to conquer the Earth?)

Why is my life such a colossal train wreck? I never asked for this!

The man called Iemitsu seems to be completely oblivious to my mental torments as he leads me out of the bedroom. I shuffle behind him awkwardly, quietly wondering where it all went wrong. A brief moment of deliberation suggests that it probably all started on the day of my birth. Or re-birth. Whatever you want to call it.

Iemitsu keeps up that ridiculous charade about the 'construction company' he supposedly works for and I have to ask myself: what kind of a lie is that anyway? It makes... no sense? First of all – he's dressed in a neatly-pressed, obviously expensive suit. Second of all... he already gave himself away when he mentioned the Vongola Family, didn't he?

Now, the memory might have been a faraway one, stemming from back when I was only just starting to grasp Italian, but after triggered, even I can recall overheard conversations – whispers exchanged by strangers and not-so-strangers alike. It's not possible to have lived in Milan for over half a year and never have of _them_.

I don't know the fine of it, but I did figure out this: Vongola – which I had mistakenly believed be be seafood for the longest of times – was always brought up in association to illegal activities.

Embezzlement.

Bribery.

Even murder... once or twice.

People don't like talking about it, yet... they do.

And then Iemitsu came along, saying things like: _"I work for the Vongola"_ and _"we're allied with the Bovino Family"_ \- it wasn't that hard to put two and two together, honestly.

And I don't like it. Precisely because it suddenly all makes sense.

Crime. Italy. The Godfather. Just like Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone, only that I'm in this for real.

Guns and gunfights and drugs.

I guess I traded life at the castle for life in an organised crime group. Someone up there must be having a laugh at all this... and, well, I hope whichever god or deity orchestrated this chokes on their... whatever it is gods eat.

If they eat at all...

If the don't eat, I suppose just plain old choking will have to suffice.

(There's still the matter of the Bovino _Family_ Iemitsu mentioned, but I'm not sure if I want to tackle that particular subject quite yet).

There's a hallway two floors bellow the room I woke up in that looks like the remains of a battlefield. It seems to be more populated than the area I was previously in and if I hadn't been suspicious before... I certainly would have been after stepping foot inside this part of the... mansion? Castle? Vila?

There are char marks on the floor and the windows are broken, but the most startling thing of all is that... there's an entire section of the wall missing. The pieces of said wall are scattered all around, being cleaned up by a crew of maids. Armed maids, I might as well add. I'm pretty sure I see a sword case looped around one of their belts.

The maids aren't the only ones armed, every person present seems to be carrying some sort of a weapon. Like the guy we just walked by... I'm... pretty sure that was an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. I try not to think of it too much.

"It isn't _usually_ like this." Iemitsu tells me after a few moments, apparently having noticed my discomfort. "But, you see, a couple of days ago there was an... incident, I guess you could call it. We're all still a little shaken."

What kind of an incident evokes _this_ kind of a reaction?

(I make a point not to ask any questions I'm pretty sure I don't want to know the answer to.)

We reach the end of the hallway and leave that part of the mansion. The door closes softly behind me and suddenly I can't help but feel like we stepped into a 15th century chateau. It's beautiful, filled with gold and stylish decorations and the way the sun seeps in through the windows almost makes the ruin we just left behind seem fake. Dream-like. Like it was never even there at all. The contrast is startling.

Dinner is actually a three course meal served in a large dining room as I sit there all by myself. Even as Iemitsu leaves the room to take care of some urgent business that comes up, I constantly feel like I'm being watched. Then again, that might just be the large painting that hangs on the wall directly behind me.

I'm not sure whom it depicts but it's larger than any painting I've ever seen and the eyes – beady and black as they are – seem to almost follow me when I move about. I've always hated that – who would paint such a thing and why?

I tell the painting that it's creepy. It just stares back at me with its creepy, soulless eyes.

I finish my slice of cherry pie, politely thanking the maid that comes to clean it up, and stretch out in my chair. When I called her, Ottavia said that she was on her way to picking me up, but how long will that take? When will somebody come back for me... I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to wander.

I'm on the considering doing that anyway when the door is pulled open and a familiar face reappears.

"I see you're done already, Princess?" Iemitsu asks. The chair's legs scrape against the wooden floor as he pulls it out from underneath he table, lowering himself into it. "Did you like it?"

"It was good." I admit. When I realise that the food might have been spiked with something, it is already too late for that. I scold myself, but ultimately, I can only hope for the best.

"Good, good. The cook will be pleased to hear that." There is a small pause, as if the man is wondering how to proceed, before - "You know, I always thought royalty was hard to please. There's this... person I know. He has very outspoken tastes."

"Oh..." I'm not sure what to do with that, so I ask a question that's been bothering me for a while instead. "So... your,uh... _construction company_. What does it want with me? I know you said you kidnapped me by accident but... you know my name. And who I am."

"Ah," Iemitsu leans closer, a little knowing twinkle in his eyes, "I was wondering when you'd want to know about that. See, truth is, our company... it likes to – how do you say – _keep track_ of its employees."

Well, this isn't what I was expecting.

"You see, Your Highness, we have a common acquaintance, you and I."

The form of address makes me sit up a little straighter in my chair. It's the first time anyone's called me that, but it is my rightful title, I suppose.

"We do?"

"Yes, indeed. And the company I work for would greatly appreciate it if you could help us out by sharing some information."

I think, at this point, that we both know the other knows we're not actually talking about a construction company at all. It feels strange, to be perceived as something other than a child after all these years.

But Iemitsu isn't playing around. He isn't treating me like the four-year-old I look like.

Why?

"And... what would this information you require be?"

"Anything you can tell us about your brother."

 _My brother?!_

Rasiel? No – he must mean Belphegor. Rasiel is dead, I recall as my mind fills with an image of a child in a black dress shirt. He's covered in blood. Belphegor was too, of course, the last time I saw him... only that it wasn't his.

Is he even still alive?

He must be – if Iemtisu is inquiring about him. Wait. Does that mean he's here, in Italy?

My expression doesn't change even as a plethora of thoughts and questions flash through my head. Iemitsu just watches me expectantly.

"What's your business with Bel?"

I suppose it sounds a bit more hostile than I had intended it to – it's not something I can help. Even after all this time – even after what happened that night... I still feel kind of protective of him, like I always have.

He's my brother. Iemitsu is a stranger whom I suspect of being a mafioso. Is it even a question which of the two I choose?

"This is all completely off the record of course."

Yeah, I don't like this. Just what is Bel involved in, anyway?

Either way...

"I think I'd like to be left alone until Ottavia arrives, Mr. Sawada."

It's a clear dismissal.

~X~

When Toro and Ottavia arrive later that same evening, both looking dishevelled and terribly worried, I wrap my arms around the latter's neck and refuse to let go until she's picked me up and carried me all the way back to the car.

It's a childish demand, but for some reason it makes sense at the time.

I fall asleep in the backseat of the car and when I wake up again the next morning there's an unspoken agreement that we don't talk about _the incident_.

~X~

This drags on for what is probably longer than what most people would consider healthy or beneficial to a functional child-guardian relationship, but it seems to work out just fine for the both of us so we keep it up.

Frankly, I don't really _want_ to ask about the mafia and Ottavia doesn't seem to want to talk about it either so it fits just fine. Toro goes along with it because I'm pretty sure that's just what he's supposed to do. Things are kind of tense, a little bit awkward at times, but we work our way around it.

Our days go on as normal and soon I'm subdued in a routine again.

A shipment of books is delivered at our doorstep one day; they are all thick and heavy and some are so old that I fear they're going to fall apart every time I turn one of their worn, yellowing pages. They are history books, law books, genealogy books – all of them things I had partially forgotten I had asked for but am happy to receive all the same. I stack them all on my desk, and much like how I used to study for exams in my previous life, I now drink hot chocolate instead of coffee as I pour over the contents. Next to me I keep a little notepad, where I like to jot down notes whenever I think something's important or worth some more exploration.

Accidia has a simple a enough structure – it's not difficult to remember. It's the basic pyramid kids learn about at school, where the ones with the power are few and right at the top and the lower you get, the less significant the people become.

It's just as my etiquette teacher had once summarised it:

 _First there's the King and Queen. Then the Princes. Then the Princesses. And everyone else is beneath you._

The royal family precedes those of noble blood, situated right at the top. After the nobles, come _the rest_ : the _peasants,_ the common people. Statistically speaking – it's that class that has seen the worst of it.

The Royal House controls nearly everything that can be controlled, and while there is a council made up of primarily Aristocrats and Nobles, their function is to advice and to deal with smaller, more regional matters.

As I read through some more of Ottavia's books I also learn that executions (public or otherwise), though not terribly common, are perfectly legal in my country of origin.

It's kind of astounding that all of this would still be allowed in the 21st century, but as far as I can tell, Accidia makes its own rules. It is an independent country that's not really a part of the European Union and as a general rule, outsiders tend to avoid it. Minimal contact with the outside world certainly does explain a couple of things about why my homeland is so old fashioned like that.

I don't find much concerning the subject I'm _really_ interested in though. There are a few instances of disinheritance, and a few more of Kings and Queens bending the rules so that somebody other than the heir apparent could ascend to the throne for whatever reason, but I don't find anything that can really help me.

I don't want the throne – I want to get away from it.

According to Accidian law, the line of inheritance moves on from one child to the next – it doesn't specify gender but tradition dictates that males get priority. If there are no more male heirs left, that's when a Princess becomes Queen. Tradition aside though, this is actually one of the things Accidia _doesn't_ have a written law for. Ironic, right?

Right now, according to my sources, Belphegor and I – the two remaining heirs – share the exact same status. We're Crown Prince and Crown Princess respectively until Bel decides otherwise and steps up to solidify his priority to the inheritance of the throne. Unfortunately, the chances of this happening anytime soon... seem rather slim.

So days and months pass and somewhere along the way, I convince Ottavia not to send me to school come September. I'd much rather be home-schooled anyway, and as I rattle out some high school algebra like it's the most natural thing in the world, I try to prove my point that school would only be a bother.

I'm confident that I can teach myself, I tell her.

Ottavia doesn't seem particularly keen on the idea of leaving my education up to myself though and instead agrees to keep an eye out for any suitable tutors. In the meanwhile, I'm bestowed with books on a variety of subjects such as languages, maths, physics, history and psychology... it goes on and on until my eyes get dry and itchy and I can no longer keep them open for the sake of reading.

I fall asleep at that point, only to pick my book back up again in the morning. Ottavia's books keep my mind occupied more effectively than Toro's puzzles ever did and before I know it I'm through with them and ask Ottavia to get me another batch.

It is on one of those days, while I'm laying on the couch reading one of Ottavia's newer books, that my carefully sculpted peace of mind shatters into a million pieces.

It starts with the sound of the front door opening and my raising of a curious eyebrow. The clock reads 3:47PM in a bright red annoying font, which means Ottavia is not supposed to be back yet. I call out to her either way (because who else could it be?) but instead of a reply, I'm met by the sound of a dull _thunk_.

"Ottavia?" I ask.

I put my book down with the spine facing upwards and swing my legs off the couch. My bare feet touch the wooden floor and there's still no answer.

"Are you back? What's going -"

My movements come to an abrupt halt the moment I enter the foyer, and I inhale sharply. Ottavia is laying on the floor and I don't know what happened to her, but she's unconscious and covered in blood.

~X~

No matter where you go, hospitals tend to be more or less the same: white walls, with that terrible, heavy odour of disinfectant lingering in the air. It reminds me of death and illness and loved ones I'll never see again.

To my right, just close enough to still be within my hearing range, a doctor is talking to Toro in a hushed tone. There is a clipboard in his hands and his long white lab coat makes me frown with distaste. There's talk about blood loss and bullets and having done the right thing by bringing her in. Half an hour longer, and the damage might have been permanent.

Toro asks if we can go in and see her.

Visiting hours are already over and Ottavia won't be awake, but the doctor takes a long look at me and gives us five minutes.

There's one other patient in Ottavia's room, but he's sound asleep and I don't care much for him. Instead, I make a straight beeline for my guardian. She's sleeping (just like the doctor had said she would be) and though she looks impossibly pale hooked on to all of these machines, watching her chest rise and fall makes me feel just a bit better.

She's alive. She's okay. She's going to get through this.

 _She has to._

I don't know what I'd do without Ottavia.

Glancing aside, I notice that Toro has lowered himself in one of the chairs, holding her hand with his own.

"She's going to be alright, kiddo." He tells me. I'm not sure if he's trying to convince himself or just me.

Our five minutes seem to last only one and before I know it the man in the lab coat is standing by the door again, nodding at his watch and gesturing that it's time for us to leave.

We make it all the way back to Toro's green car before I open my mouth to speak again.

There's no way I can keep ignoring it now.

"This... what happened to Ottavia... it's got to do with the mafia, doesn't it?"

It's the first time I openly admit to knowing of it as well as Ottavia's suspected involvement in the whole thing. Even so, Toro doesn't look too surprised at my question. I think that, perhaps, he was even expecting it. He simply nods.

"Why did this happen?"

"You should ask Ottavia about it but... she designs weapons. That's her job, I mean. She designs, makes and tests weapons. I sell them. She's working on something... very special at the moment."

Weapons. Arms trade. _Wonderful._

"So somebody... tried to kill her because of that?"

"It's not as uncommon as you'd think." Toro chuckles bitterly. "Our Family – the Bovino Famiglia – well, we're known for our weapon production. Among other things."

I slowly nod my head. I'm taking this in a stride and I'm not sure if it's the aftershock of almost losing Ottavia that hasn't worn off yet or the fact that I've had the time to come to terms with the thought that Ottavia might or might not be involved in the dealings of some Italian crime syndicate. Having it confirmed doesn't do all that much to me.

She's still Ottavia and she's taken care of me since I was born.

"Do you know who did it?"

Toro murmurs that they've got some suspicions but they can't know anything for sure... not before Ottavia wakes up anyway. I wonder whether the ones responsible will be hunted down, just like they did to Ottavia, but then think better of it and don't voice my question.

The next morning, when we return to visit Ottavia, she is already awake and calmly browsing through a magazine. It fills me with a sense of relief and as I carefully warp my arms around her torso I tell her this much.

"I can only imagine the scare I must have given you you." She says, "I'm sorry."

I tell her – though my voice is rather muffled by Ottavia's hospital gown – not to do it again. There's a chat that we need to have, but for now I believe it best to let her rest some more.

As soon as Ottavia is discharged from the hospital, Toro drives her home and the two of us spend the next few days making sure she doesn't strain herself in any way possible. We don't let her do any of the housework and make her take a leave from work – at least until she's properly healed. The maid-turned-mafioso (or is it a mafioso-turned-maid? Mafioso-turned-maid-turned-mafioso-again?) is exasperated at our antics but gives in.

Toro's cooking skills are lacking and I'm probably not the best nursemaid around but soon enough Ottavia is as good as new and, in her insistent manner that takes no noes, she puts us both off duty and life continues.

~X~

It is actually Ottavia that brings up the topic this time.

One day, after she returns from work, she seats me down and gives me a talking-to. She tells me about the Bovino Family, her involvement in it and how she never wanted this to affect me. It's just as Toro briefly told me: Ottavia designs guns and advanced weaponry for a living and it turns out that Verde the talking baby really _is_ her co-worker.

When I ask her about his being a baby she tells me something about him being an arcobeleno – no, not a rainbow – an _arcobaleno_ and warns me to stay away from him.

She also has something else to tell me, and this time it concerns _the incident_. My kidnapping. The Vongola Family – whatever one wants to call it. Apparently, she's known where my brother was all along – he's here, in Italy, and he's gone and joined an assassination squad. Gained a reputation through his ruthlessness and unparalleled talent – he's the youngest member up to date.

My brother is a hired assassin.

My caretaker makes guns for a living.

My caretaker's brother sells said guns.

Again, I can't help but wonder... how exactly is this my life?

~X~

It gets weirder.

A few weeks after my sixth birthday Toro shows up at our doorstep carrying a bundle of blankets. They're a bright baby blue and hidden inside them, I can see the face of a tiny little baby poking out.

That is the day that I meet Lambo.


	18. Little lamb

Every year, on the 26th day of November, I receive a knife from an anonymous sender.

There's never a birthday card attached, or even a note with the name of the sender on it, but I don't need more than two knives to put my facts together and come to the conclusion that – most likely – these are coming from my estranged brother.

Considering the fact that this is the very same brother who tried to kill me last time we met... I'm not really sure how that makes me feel. On the one hand, I guess it might be his twisted idea of a gift... on the other hand, I'm not entirely sure this _isn't_ a threat either. How do you interpret a gift like that? Coming from a person like Bel, no less?

I don't have an answer to that question, so I just take the knife out of its box and put it away with the rest.

There's a drawer inside my closet, cleaned and emptied out for one specific reason: it's where I keep my valuables. Like my crown – the tiny silver coronet which doesn't really fit my head anymore – and Bel's knives. I make sure to handle the latter with caution, because last time I didn't I discovered just how sharp they are.

Disturbingly pretty as the colour of blood is, I'm not overly fond of the idea of injuring myself. It goes against my every instinct, and... if I have to be honest with myself... knives kind of freak me out.

I guess they would suit Belphegor just fine though, wouldn't they?

~X~

Ottavia doesn't protest against me researching the Mafia.

If anything, she encourages my efforts and becomes my primary source of inside knowledge during those first few months of blind stumbling through both information and misinformation alike. Information about the Mafia, I realise pretty soon, isn't all that hard to come by as long as you're actually looking for it. It's sorting the good from the bad, the false from the even falser, that poses a challenge if you've got no idea what exactly you're doing.

Luckily for me, I apparently have a network of people who already know what they're doing, so I only have to go as far as the living room or telephone to inform myself of matters I can't solve by solely relying on books.

One of the first things I realise as the search goes on is that the Mafia is much more structured and complicated than one would expect. There are different layers of command within a Family and while that doesn't come to me as a surprise, it's still disorienting to find some of the Bosses' lives and legacies written down in tomes to be studied by the younger generations like the history of Accidia was studied by me.

Some Families, like the Bovino Famiglia (known to go back at least five generations), are still relatively young – some others seem to be as ancient as time itself. Most Families find themselves somewhere between those two ends of the spectrum, the most notable being – of course – the Vongola Famiglia.

Founded by a man known as Vongola Primo, it dates back nearly ten generations and is currently the strongest Family on the map. They control a great portion of the country's underground circles and Ottavia tells me that they might as well own Naples.

It's ill-advised to stir up trouble in another Family's territory, of course, so most people tread with caution. Impressively, the Bovino Famiglia – though not that big in numbers – has gained enough wealth and recognition to be a part of this and are generally acknowledged to be in charge of various smaller, northern areas of Italy.

In contrast to this, Ottavia informs me that the Vongola's influence is worldwide and that it is said no Family can ever match them in terms of size, tradition, rules, or power. Only a fool would want them as their enemy.

The only authority even more daunting than the Vongola are the guards of a place named Vendicare. It's a prison operating around, and controlling, Mafia law. I hadn't known there was such a thing at all but even Toro is reluctant to tell me much more about it. The Mafia's most notorious criminals are kept in there and it is said that in the deepest parts of the prison, where they keep the highest-security cases, no light nor sound can reach the prisoners. It sounds like a miserable existence.

But still... a Mafia _prison_? That sounds just a bit strange, doesn't it? A lot of things are strange about the Mafia though, and trying to figure them out would probably take a lifetime or four... so I decide to let it slide.

(I decide to draw the line at Mafia Land though because... that _has_ to be a joke, right?)

I start to wonder, at some point, if every single person Ottavia has ever introduced me to is actually a mafioso in disguise. It's a thought that strikes me as Rena, the woman who's been my hairdresser ever since I moved to Milan, jokingly states that she's a "hairdresser by daylight and an information broker by moonlight – kind of like a superhero, but with less noble intentions" - she's as cheerful as ever, but to me a new reality is starting to shape itself.

(Suddenly, her watered down reaction to realising who I was all those years ago makes a lot more sense than it ever did in the past).

Without realising it, I have become a part of the mafia too – I might not belong to any of the local Famiglias, and I might not be directly involved with their activities, but the closest thing I have to a parent is a mafioso, and so is nearly everyone else I know. Doesn't that – at the very least – mark me as guilty by association? My kidnapping incident should be enough to prove that: I'm already in too deep.

Ottavia only confirms this – my reputation as Bel's sister isn't something I can get rid of, and Iemitsu likely won't be the last to try and interfere with my life because of it...

I think that, maybe, it's time to step up my game.

Unfortunately, my plans are horribly thwarted by Toro's arrival at our house on that Tuesday evening, thoroughly soaked by late May rainwater and carrying a bundle of bright baby blue blankets in his arms. From inside the bundle, a tiny little face is poking out.

And that, everyone, is how I meet Lambo Bovino.

~X~

Brought into the mafia world long before he was even born, Lambo isn't the first child – and nor will he be the last – to be orphaned at a very young age.

We don't really know Lambo's story except for what Toro can tell us – the boy was found by an abandoned warehouse, wrapped in a set of blankets behind some trash cans, and all signs point towards the fact that he was probably abandoned there by his parents.

Toro brings him back to Ottavia's, and that is a short summary of how Lambo Bovino (for orphans and/or foundlings often take on the Famiglia's name as their own) joins our family.

I've got to say, for an organisation that thrives on crime and all things illegal... the Mafia sure does have a significant sense of honour. They handle Lambo's case with the utmost care, make sure he gets the medical attention he needs, and the Don assigns him a home within his new Family. Toro receives a monthly income for taking care of him, and several care packages arrive within the first week of Lambo's introduction to the Bovino Family. They're filled with clothes, baby food, furniture and more.

Taking in orphans isn't a new thing to the Mafia – it produces some of the most loyal members, statistically speaking (seriously, who even keeps track of that?), and when looked at it that way... I guess I can understand their motivation.

As a general rule, the newest member of out family lives with Toro at his place. Thing is, Toro doesn't really _know_ how to take care of a baby that small and Ottavia does, so I dare say that we're all gathered in Ottavia's little apartment more often than not anyway.

Lambo is a demanding little baby if I ever saw one – he knows what he wants and he knows exactly when he wants it. Unfortunately, it's not easy to communicate that to a bunch of people who don't exactly _speak_ baby-talk, and he usually ends up crying until we figure out what's wrong.

Generally speaking, Lambo cries about a lot of things.

On another note -

Toro's new camcorder seems to be the newest fixture added to his person. From the moment he buys it, up until when Lambo finally blows it to smithereens with one of those custom-made pink grenades a couple of years later, it seems to permanently be attached to his hand. If somebody told me he shares his bed with it at night, tucking it in and wishing it sweet dreams, I wouldn't even be that surprised.

With the aforementioned camcorder in hand, Toro takes great care to document every significant moment of Lambo's infant life: he circles around him as Lambo sits in his baby swing, blowing spit bubbles and giggling, and calls it a momentous occasion.

It's endearing, really... at least until it starts getting annoying...

("WAAAAH! WAAAAAH! WAAAAH!"

"For God's sake, Toro, put that thing away!"

"WAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"But Ottaviiaaaaaa-"

" _I'm trying to feed this baby!"_ )

As well as that time when –

("Lambo's new clothes! It's cow onesie! But it's not just any old cow onesie for BEHOLD-"

"Hey Ottavia, does Lambo own any clothing that _isn't_ a cow onesie?"

"I don't think so, Princess."

"It's a cow onesie with POCKETS!"

"... why does Lambo need pockets?")

And –

("And here we see Lambo Bovino. Future Hitman Extraordinaire – or maybe future President of Italy? – in the sink. He is enjoying a lukewarm bath as Ottavia, my lovely sister of extreme talents -"

"If you don't turn that thing off this lovely sister of extreme talents is going to let Verde use you as a human test subject, Toro.")

As far as fathers go, Toro isn't a _terrible_ one. He's very doting, Lambo absolutely adores him and his heart is undoubtedly in the right place, but... he does have his moments of recklessness. He can be forgetful and irresponsible and no matter how many times Ottavia tells him to keep the grenades _out of Lambo's sight_ , he never quite gets around to doing that.

"Ah, who cares." He says as he bounces Lambo on his leg, "He can't reach them yet."

It's not a reply Ottavia takes particularly well to. She instead goes into a rage and a detailed description of exactly what had happened last time she was exposed to children who had a free reign over weapons: the boy had murdered two thirds of his family, after which he ended up joining the Mafia's most revered assassination squad.

"I don't know about you," She snaps, "but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Privately, I rather agree with my caretaker.

~X~

The summer months pass in a breeze and before I know it it's almost my birthday again. It's this realisation that jolts me into action.

I let myself be distracted by Lambo and his needs for this long but I can't keep putting it off. Filled with resolution, I leave Ottavia's house one day, a messenger bag slung dutifully over my shoulder. Due to Ottavia working and Toro being out with Lambo for the day, there's no one at home as I pull the door shut behind me. It suits me just fine – I don't want them to know that I'm gone.

Rena's salon is situated down town and looks exactly the same as last time I visited her. The lights are turned off though, and the sign at the front door reads "closed". I don't let that deter me – instead I ring the doorbell – I do it insistently until a dishevelled, sleepy-looking Rena comes stumbling down the stairs. She looks surprised to see me, but lets me in all the same.

I tell her that, no, I'm not here for a haircut. I want some information.

It's as if that simple sentence turns a switch of some kind because Rena's kind brown eyes narrow slightly – something about her countenance is so different that, for a moment, I catch myself wondering if maybe I shouldn't have done this?

Rena doesn't say anything like that though, she instead grabs me by the arm, hisses out a _"not here"_ and leads me away from the salon and up the stairs, where I assume her private quarters to be.

There's a curtain of bright, colourful beads separating the kitchen from the living room and as Rena seats me down into one of the kitchen chairs, she asks me:

"Where's Ottavia? Isn't she with you?"

"No, she's... I'm here on my own. I'd appreciate it if you could not mention this to her."

The truth of the matter is... I've got no idea how to go about this. I'm not sure how these matters usually work, and I don't have any actual money to give Rena in exchange for her services. I do have my coronet safely tucked away in my messenger bag though, and I'm quite sure that that should suffice.

It's authentic, after all, beautifully crafted with the best and most expensive materials. Looking at it closely enough, one can even make out the tiny little diamonds embedded in it.

Rena takes a seat across from me, picking up her cup of coffee and taking a considering sip.

"Well... let's get down to business then." She comments. "I'll let you know – for future reference – that this isn't how I usually do this. Give me a call in advance, if possible, and try to come in from the back." I nod my head in understanding.

It crosses my mind to apologise for the inconvenience I've caused but I tell myself that this is not the time. Coming off as uncertain won't do me any good... I find myself slipping into Princess mode almost automatically by this point, putting down my hands on the table and entwining my fingers in a way that makes me look both official, and regal.

People always take me more seriously like this.

"Right." She nods, "Shall we proceed?" She then takes out a little notepad and clicks the topside of her pen against the table. "Would I be right in assuming that you've never done this before?"

"You would be."

"Then I'll give you a quick overview. You tell me what kind of information you need and based upon factors like how difficult or dangerous it is for me to obtain it, I calculate a price. This price is negotiable, but there are no refunds. All payment is to be given to me upfront – no exceptions." Then, as an afterthought she adds - "Are you able to pay me in cash?"

"I will be."

~X~

Rena isn't interested in my crown, but we strike up a different sort of deal instead. She asks for a _favour,_ to be called in and acted upon whenever she desires.

~X~

("Lambo, say dad! Da- _ddy_! Daddy!" The camera zooms in, focusing on a tiny child with a head of, curly black hair. He's dressed in a cow onesie and the lollipop in his mouth seems to be more interesting than the camcorder at the moment.

"..."

There's a chuckle somewhere in the background and Ottavia's familiar voice says:

"How about auntie, Lambo? Say auntie!"

"..."

The results are much the same.

"Da-ddy. Come on Lambo, da-ddy."

"Hey Lambo, try saying _anterior sacrococcygeal ligament_."

In an instant the camera is turned around, focusing on an 8-year-old blonde girl instead. Her blue eyes shine with mischief, and there's a grin on her lips.

"... what... the heck, Princess?" Toro questions.

"What? It's the first word I could think of." There's a book opened up in her lap – and Toro's face appears in front of the camera to inform the audience that the Princess likes being smart. In the background, the girl sticks out her tongue playfully.

The nearly two-year-old Lambo is almost forgotten, at least until –

"... a... a..."

"Wait, seriously?"

Lambo comes back into focus, the camera zooming in on his face almost uncomfortably. The lollipop is gone and it looks like he's concentrating.

"An..."

"Oh, shit."

"HE'S GOING FOR IT! MY SON IS A GENIUS! GO, LAMBO!"

"A... abo!" The boy excitedly cries, "Abo!"

"Huh?"

"Abo! Abo!"

"Oh my god," The girl snorts in amusement, "He's saying his own name, _Lambo_!")

* * *

 **A/N: Aaaaaaand Lambo finally joins the crew! It was a long wait, I know. Anyway, what do you guys think of Toro as a parent? As much as I want to make him a great dad... canon facts don't exactly allow me that option. I mean, Lambo goes to Japan all by himself when he's FIVE, and not to mention all the guns/grenades/weapons he's carrying around in his afro. Doesn't exactly spell responsibility.**

 **On another note, this story has reached (and surpassed) 100 reviews! Thank you to everyone who has favourited/followed/reviewed this story! I wouldn't have gotten this far without you.**

 ** _To FrogLover7:_ To answer your question, no, Helena hasn't watched KHR. She's going to experience everything first hand and with little to no warning. I think it's more fun that way :)**

 ** _To Epr9u:_ Nah, Bel didn't kill his mother. He's done a lot of terrible things in his lifetime, but that isn't one of them. There _is_ a bigger story surrounding her death though, and you'll find out about it... eventually.**

 **Any questions? Thoughts? Don't hesitate to leave a review!**


	19. The world's greatest hitman

_Belphegor Ehrensvärd-Laurvigen._

This name, which is neatly printed on the sticker attached to Rena's file, fills me with a profound feeling of trepidation. It's so familiar – so awfully, wonderfully, breathtakingly familiar, that – for the fraction of a second – I'm quite sure I can feel the knife against my throat again. My stomach coils unpleasantly and I grasp the corner of the first page, turning it over in one swift, determined move before I lose my nerve and give up again.

Nothing flies out at me – nothing even happens at all – and I am instead met with the picture of a boy.

A curtain of blonde hair covers his eyes and a wide, toothy grin stretches out on his lips. The silver coronet, which used to perfectly mirror Rasiel's own crown, is replaced by a circlet that much more closely resembles a tiara. I effortlessly recognise the design – it is of Accidian making – a crown worn by the Princes and Princesses of our nation once they reach a certain age.

 _It's Bel._

He looks a bit older than I remember him being, but considering that it has been nearly five years since we last met, that isn't actually all that surprising. The baby fat is now completely gone from his cheeks, replaced by cheekbones that I bet will one day contribute to his success with the ladies. He's starting to resemble our father, but with a softer touch that is so characteristically our mother's.

Which is kind of ironic because, let's admit it: it's _Bel_ – he murdered more than 80 people that night. _For his enjoyment._ That touch of softness doesn't belong there.

Further analysing the picture, I also notice that he isn't wearing his usual dress shirt – he's clad in some sort of a leather uniform instead. Even though it looks a bit big on him, it gives off the impression that it was tailored to sort of suit _him_ specifically. In a rebellious fashion that is so 100% Bel, he's also wearing a red striped shirt under his unbuttoned uniform jacket. It makes me roll my eyes at him as I turn my gaze downward to get started on taking in some of the _actual_ information.

The first page doesn't entail much more than what could be considered general information. His full name, his age, a general description of what he looks like and some details like where he has recently been sighted. I don't plan to follow up on any of those leads, so I turn the page and dig deeper.

 _Known aliases: Prince The Ripper,_ gives me a pause because... well... that sounds awfully ominous, doesn't it? For all that it makes me squirm, the fact that Bel is commonly known to prefer violent, messy kills to clean ones does not exactly surprise me. I could have guessed that one myself, to be honest.

Rena's information also confirms that my brother is an established member of an organisation called Varia, and by extension, the Vongola Famiglia as well. In a handwritten scribble at the bottom of the page, my hairdresser informs me that Bel seems to be at least moderately highly-ranked, if what is known about him can be trusted.

Which is impressive considering his age, but again not that shocking if I take into account what Ottavia has always told me about Accidian royalty.

Bits and pieces of Bel's exploits are summarised in the following pages and while I start reading them with a sense of foreboding dread, I manage to get myself through no less than five pages of this before I put a stop to it.

It's not that it isn't interesting, or that I can't stomach the gory details... it's that... _imagining it_ makes me giddy. It makes a smile blossom on my lips, my mind filled with images of blood and carnage. It makes me twitchy for _something_ – and I carefully try not to think about what that _something_ might be.

I refuse to read on because, honestly, it scares me.

My reactions.

My thoughts.

My overpowering urge to smile.

After all, _Accidia has had a long history of bloodshed._

(Maybe I'm just as sick as the rest of them).

~X~

Lambo likes afternoon strolls, especially the ones taken through the park. This is mainly because there's an ice cream stand there, and spoiled as he is by his adoptive father, he always gets one on the way home.

Unfortunately for whomever is taking him out, Lambo also absolutely loathes the stroller. He kicks up a fuss every time somebody tries to put him in one and only stops if you let him walk by your side. It wouldn't be that bad if he didn't usually get tired ten minutes into the walk, demanding to be carried loudly and tearfully and attracting the attention of anyone standing within two blocks from his current location.

Today is different though, we're not going to the park.

I inform Lambo of this as I help him get on his coat and shoes. Lambo just looks at me with his big green eyes and sticks a finger up his nose. I frown.

"Where are we going then, Nena?"

Nena, short for Helena, is a nickname Lambo came up with when he was just learning how to speak – he hasn't dropped it yet despite being capable of pronouncing my given name just fine.

"Take your finger out of your nose, Lambo. Do you want it to get stuck there?"

The boy looks at me with a look of utter astonishment, jaw slack.

"Will it really?" He asks, making no obvious effort to move his hand. I solemnly nod my head as I zip up his coat, pulling on it one last time to make sure Lambo's ready to go outside.

"Yes, and you'll never, ever be able to remove it again."

Unfortunately, it doesn't have the desired effect.

"Nyahahaha! Lambo will be the incredible snot man!"

Rolling my eyes at the boy's antics I take his hand and push it into a pair of woollen gloves – partially because it's cold outside, and partially because you can't shove a glove up your nostril. I have a feeling that I may have started something I will regret in the future.

"I thought you were going to be the world's number one hitman?" I tease, and Lambo puffs his chest self-importantly as if to say – _of course_ he's going to become the world's number one hitman! He can't believe someone as close as his Nena would ever doubt that! The whole hitman thing is something Toro stated saying some time ago, but has become a running gag between Ottavia and I. Lambo, on the other hand, seems to have taken the entire matter very seriously.

"I'll just be both!"

"Ah, but you can't be both of those, Lambo." I shake my head in a knowing manner. "You can only be one."

"Just one?"

"Just one." From a room to my left Ottavia comes out, trying to hide the little smile threatening to spread out on her lips. "That's what the ancient rules of the Mafia say, kid. Sorry to disappoint."

Lambo looks rather crestfallen at this news and Ottavia pats his shoulder solemnly.

"Anyway, don't forget your coat, Princess. It's cold out tonight." She holds out my coat to take, along with a scarf and my own set of gloves.

"Thank you, Ottavia. I'll look after Lambo."

"I'm sure you will. Just be back before his bedtime ("The great Lambo-san has no bedtime!"), alright?"

"Yeah, no worries."

I take Lambo's hand in mine and together we leave Ottavia's appartment. Toro is out working tonight, so – as it usually goes – Ottavia and I are in charge of Lambo's entertainment. We'd usually just spend cold days like these inside, watching some TV and playing games, but I happened to come across a flier a couple of days ago and I've got the feeling Lambo would enjoy a show with fireworks.

I lead him down the by now familiar road, following the pavement and listening to the three-year-old ramble about one thing and the other.

For some reason, Lambo recently requested he be taught Japanese and apparently, being his only peer-mate means I get to follow these classes too. Toro arranges for bi-weekly meetings with a tutor so... here we are now, I guess.

"Where are we going to, Nena? To the park? To the playground? Are we going to get ice-cream? Where are we going?" Lambo tugs at my sleeve impatiently, small fingers wrapped around three of my own.

"Hmmm I wonder~"

"Nenaaaaaa!"

"Hahaha, well, if you want to know... we're going to the square."

"The square?" Lambo sounds disappointed. "That's boring! There's nothing to do there!" Then, as if suddenly realising something, the boy groans loudly - "We're not going to buy more books are we? _Don't you have enough already?!_ "

While it is true that during the years my collection of books has grown rather significantly, it isn't as bad as it could have been – still – Lambo isn't overly fond of books because the pictures in them don't move, while the pictures on the television do. In Lambo's opinion, the superior medium here is obvious.

"No, Lambo." I say in an amused tone of voice. "No books today. Actually – I found this flier a couple of days ago about a firework show... I mean, if you don't want to go, I GUESS we can still go back-"

"Nena, nooooooo! Fireworks are cool! Lambo wants to see the fireworks! Take me to see the fireworks!"

The square is brightly lit by several lanterns and as soon as we arrive it's rather obvious Lambo and I weren't the only ones interested in seeing this show. Lots of people are here – parents with their children, young couples, or just groups of friends looking to have a nice time.

I get Lambo a sugary drink of his choice and, still holding his hand in one of mine, lead him away from the square again, through some of the side streets and up some stairs. I discovered this place some time ago, while I was out exploring and I think it's definitely worth the shortness of breath at the end of the trip. The sight from up here is beautiful and I have no doubt the fireworks will look even better.

I elect a place to sit down with Lambo and the first few moments pass in silence.

"Where are the fireworks?"

"They're going to start pretty soon." I assure him, crossing my legs over each other and stretching my upper body languidly. Lambo nods, quiets down.

"Are they starting yet?"

"Not yet."

"Oh... what about now?"

"Nah."

Lambo sits down and waits quietly for the entirety of five whole seconds – a record, some would say – before he starts complaining about how bored he is. Luckily, I'm equipped for this particular crisis and have a bag of grape-flavoured candy on me at all times. I tear it open and offer it to Lambo. Once more, Lambo quiets down.

I dare think that... well, this is pretty peaceful.

Which, let me tell you, is a mistake of mass proportions when you live the life I do. The thought has barely even grazed my mind when a loud BANG, accompanied by an alarmed cry pierces my thoughts. I look up and around instantly, just in time to see... a... teenager soaring through the sky...?

The boy hits the concrete rather painfully, pushing himself up on his elbows and moaning a mantra of "ow, ow, ow" as he rubs his head. Amazingly, he doesn't actually seem hurt. I think.

"Who do you take me for, Dino? I am the greatest hitman of the world!"

Uhhh... okay, that's weird.

The person that steps out from behind Lambo isn't as much a man as he is... a baby. He instantly reminds me of Verde, from his size to the sheer feeling of wrongness his presence projects. It's too... overwhelming. Too strong.

"Reborn!" The blonde teenager whines, but by that point it's already too late because apparently Lambo just decided to get involved.

"Nyahahahaha! It is Lambo-san! And _I_ will be the greatest hitman of the world!"

The moment he reaches towards his afro, I know that today isn't going to end well. I'm not sure how exactly he manages it, but Lambo's hair seems to be... bigger on the inside, for the lack of a better description. He puts all sorts of junk in there – and sometimes that junk is just too big to logically – or by any kind of reasoning – be able to fit. It's like Mary Poppin's bag, only in the form of a kid's mass of curly black hair.

This time, Lambo pulls out a very familiar, very dangerous pink grenade. He hurls it at the duo with all of his strength at the same time as I cry for him _not_ to do that.

The thing soars through the air as if in slow motion, right towards two people who have their backs turned towards us.

" _Watch out!"_ I yell, but no sooner have the words left my lips and the baby is already jumping into the air, executing an acrobatic freaking manoeuvre and kicking the grenade over the railing and far away from all of us. It explodes – loudly – and the baby called Reborn lands on his feet, suit still impeccably clean and proper.

…

…

…

Well shit.

"What?!" Lambo yells. "This time I'll hit you!"

He reaches out to pull another grenade out of his afro but this time I react fast enough. I grasp his wrist in my hand and pull it back.

"No, you won't."

"Lemme go!"

I give him a _look_. I may be a kid physically, but I've been told I still give the best Mum Looks when the situation calls for it.

"Lemme go, Nena! LAMBO-SAN IS THE BESTEST HITMAN IN THE WORLD!"

"Lambo, I said _no_."

It doesn't have the best effect, but at least it isn't a full-blown temper tantrum like I know he's capable of. He cries and rages and threatens to tell Toro and Ottavia on me, but before I can give him a stern talking to something catapults past my head. By the time I realise its Reborn, it's already too late: Lambo is laying on the floor and this time it's real tears that well up in his eyes. There's a red shoe-print on his cheek and it takes him all of three seconds before he hurls himself at me, clinging to my leg and noisily crying into it.

"Shut him up or I'll do it for you."

"...Excuse me?"

The baby raises his eyes to my eye-level, tipping back his fedora. His green chameleon jumps into his hand... and turns into a gun?

"I said: shut him up _or I'll do it for you_."

I wrap my arms around Lambo's small body, pulling him up into my embrace and holding him protectively. Instinctively, I turn him ever so slightly, just enough so that I'm standing between him and the baby called Reborn.

I rub a hand back and forth across his back, bouncing him slightly.

For a moment, neither of us says a word. The blonde teenager is filling the silence for us instead:

"Reborn! Put that away, please! It's just a kid! Reborn? I know that look! Reborn, no!"

Reborn doesn't do anything though, he seems to finally have _noticed_ me and now he's cocking his head slightly to the one side – as if trying to figure something out. For one terrifying moment I think he's actually going to use that gun, I think he's going to shoot me... and then... it's gone.

"Come on Dino," The baby says "Let's go."

Reborn turns around, and with a very confused Dino in tow, walks away until they've left my sight.

* * *

 **A/N: Aaaand I'm back with an update! I'm sorry it took a while - my laptop crashed and I had to rewrite it *SIGHS***

 **Anyway, now we know where Lambo's grudge comes from! There can only be _one_ Greatest Hitman Of The World! Meanwhile, Helena is starting to meet more people that are related to the mafia...**

 **A lot of people have asked me about Gokudera and when he's going to make an appearance - well, I have the next few chapters more or less planned out and I can tell you that it's going to happen and it's going to happen soon! Within the next five chapters or so~**

 **By the way, next chapter will be something a little different from the usual, so look forward to that :)**


	20. Mihail's story

Mihail Matei remembers the day he met Prince Belphegor with a startling sense of clarity. He had been 23 years old back then, a new recruit of the Varia aspiring to become something _big_ and _exceptional_ , and like many had at that point in time – he remembers taking personal offence to the child that had followed Officer Lobelia into the training room that day.

He hadn't looked much older than seven or eight years of age, eyes obscured by a curtain of blonde bangs and head crowned by a silver coronet. He was small and thin, and the fact that there obviously hadn't been a uniform small enough to fit him – for he was still clad in civilian clothes – didn't do much to enamour him to the group.

Mihail's first thought was that some idiot had hired an assassination squad to bodyguard a royal-in-hiding. Then the fact that Officer Lobelia was introducing the boy as their _new Commander_ sunk in, and Mihail's brain just stopped working for a couple of moments.

" _This is Belphegor,"_ Officer Lobelia had sternly told them, not a hint of humour in her eyes, _"I'm sure you've all noticed Molan's absence these last few days. Belphegor is here to take his place, so you answer to him now."_

Molan, Prince Belphegor's predecessor as the Varia's Storm Guardian, had been a young man – one of Tyr's first recruits and a ticking time bomb in his own right. He had had a short fuse and a fondness for bashing people's heads in with a mace. His absence had been noted, yes, but no one had ever actually thought to think that _maybe_ he might have been defeated. Mihail remembers being astounded by this notion: by the thought that anyone (let alone a _boy_ who hadn't even hit double digits yet) could ever have taken down a monster like Molan.

It soon became obvious, of course, that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover because despite the fact that the boy hadn't had any prior military or Mafia training to speak of, he clearly had what it took to be considered _Varia Quality_.

What he lacked in physical strength, the boy more than made up for in terms of agility and quick thinking. It would have taken a blind man not to see the raw potential… the fact that that with every training session that ended, Prince Belphegor improved; he got better and better until most people lost all interest in surpassing him altogether, content to just follow.

" _It was interesting to watch, you know"_ Officer Lobelia admits over a drink one night - _"The fight between Prince Bel and Molan. He kept_ goading _him. Heh. Smart child._ "

He understands now, Mihail thinks, how an untrained kid like that was able to defeat what had once been considered the Varia's elite. Prince Bel would never lose a battle in which he holds all of the cards, it isn't something his royal pride would allow him... and if he doesn't hold all of the cards? Then what? Well… he'll _make his opponents hand them over_. Goading Molan, mocking him, finding out _exactly_ which buttons to push would have made him reckless in his attacks, and when there's an opening... Prince Belphegor doesn't miss. Understanding how he did it doesn't make the feat any less impressive. But then again, the Varia as a whole is known for achieving the impossible.

Mihail is thinking about all that when a boy makes his way over to him, a wild, mildly terrified look in his brown eyes. A new recruit, then, because only the new ones ever look that chilled to the bone at the prospect of speaking to one of the higher-ranking Officers. He doesn't really blame them: introductions are usually done by Squalo and he always gets a kick out of thoroughly scaring a newbie or two. It's an adequate stress reliever, he says.

"Officer... Matei?" The boy asks, a distinctly foreign accent colouring his Italian.

"That would be me, yes."

Somewhat encouraged by the fact he managed to find the right person, the recruit tells him Prince Belphegor wishes to speak to him, as soon as possible, and that he is in his office. And that he said to hurry up. So please don't keep him waiting.

Mihail can see the stress pouring out of the boy in the form of intense perspiration, but amusing as it would be to hang around for a little longer, he also knows that making Prince Bel wait – especially when he explicitly states it's urgent – is a bad idea. So he thanks the boy, turns around and heads off towards the corridor down which the Varia's offices are located.

Each Commander has an office which is adjacent to their individual bedrooms – some use theirs more than others, but either way being called to a Commander's office usually means business. That Prince Belphegor would dole out missions this late – half an hour before he's expected to be on his way to Salerno – is rather unusual.

Mihail comes to a stop before the door and knocks three times, patiently awaiting permission to enter. It comes almost immediately, so the man lets himself in.

Prince Bel's office looks like it always does – surprisingly organised considering who its owner is, with the curtains drawn and only the lamp's artificial light to keep the room's occupants from stumbling over furniture. Mammon would complain about electricity bills again.

The Varia's Storm Guardian is sitting behind his desk, idly browsing through the contents of a manila folder as Mihail makes his way over to him. Mihail makes an effort not to peak, but even so he can't help but catch a glimpse of blonde – a picture – before Belphegor puts the paperwork away.

"There you are, _Mihail_. You don't have anything to do today, right?"

He doesn't.

And that, basically, is how Mihail Matei ends up meeting Princess Helena.

~X~

Just like any person who hasn't spent the last decade of their life living under a rock, Mihail has heard of Princess Helena before. Being in the Varia, how could he _not_ have?

" _It's really him, isn't it?" Viktor had said all those years ago, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He wasn't watching the TV, none of them were, but they could still hear it from their positions on the balcony balustrade._

 _Lazily, Mihail had turned his head – eyes settling on the image of a familiar boy. It was their new Storm Commander –_ Prince _Belphegor, as the child had insisted on being called – and other than the change in clothes, he didn't look much different from how he did now. His lips had promptly formed a sneer._

 _Quite frankly, Mihail_ couldn't **stand** _Prince Bel. He was an arrogant, spoiled little brat with a sense of entitlement superior to anything he'd ever come across before. Angrily, the 23-year-old snuffed out his cigarette as one of his friends spoke up._

 _It was Aqil, a tall, dark-haired recruit who was thin and rather skilled with a sword. He had a scar that ran down his cheek, which he wore with pride. It was his mother's final parting gift before he killed her._

" _Looks like it... he behaves like a prince too, doesn't he?"_

 _Viktor snorted._

" _If by that you mean that he's a spoiled little hell spawn, then yes. He behaves like a_ prince _alright." He spat the word like it was poison._

" _Isn't that what royalty does?" Aqil chuckled, giving his teammates a wry half-smile "I mean, they have to fill their days somehow. What better way to do it?"_

" _I could think of a few… I just wish the little pest had stayed in Accidia." Damiano hissed, teeth gritting together. It wasn't hard to see why the blonde was easily the angriest out of the four of them – he still bore the scars of his last confrontation with the Varia's new Storm Guardian after all. He had mouthed off to the blonde royal earlier today, and now his hand was bandaged because the little psychopath had stabbed a knife through it. "A nutty kingdom for a nutty prince."_

" _A match made in heaven."_

" _Or hell. Seems more appropriate, doesn't it?"_

 _There was a moment of silence before Viktor spoke up again, this time in a high-pitched, mocking voice that was so unlike his own._

" _I'm a_ real _prince, peasant!"_

" _Don't forget the fact that he's a geeeeenius, Viktor." Damiano snorted._

" _Of course – how could I forget about that. I'm not only a member of royalty – wait, no, I'm doing it wrong – the PRINCE is not only a member of ROYALTY, nooooooo, he's a genius too!"_

" _I want to punch that kid in the face."_

" _Who doesn't?" Mihail laughed bitterly. "But let's admit it – there's no way he's going to survive for long, right?"_

" _He's not dead yet."_

" _Oh come on, Aqil! You don't honestly think he's going to stick around for longer than a month, do you? The fact that he's been here for more than a week and hasn't died yet is a miracle!"_

 _The man shrugged, not offering anything else to the conversation. It was Damiano who changed the subject instead; his eyes were fixed on the TV, where pictures of the two royal brats of Accidia were still being projected, and when he spoke he said:_

" _Do you think there's a chance the sister's still alive?"_

 _It was a weird question, but since it had been asked, Mihail decided to indulge his fellow recruit._

" _Hell no. Kid's long dead."_

" _Yeah, have you ever heard the royal brat talking how he murdered his brother? There's no way that_ toddler _is still alive...! My guess is there just wasn't enough of her left to be found." Viktor pitched in._

" _He probably buried her or something."_

" _Or, you know, hacked her into little pieces and hid them all over the place. I saw a movie once -"_

" _I don't care." Aqil cut him off. "More importantly, you'd all better shut up. As deeply rooted as your burning hatred for the kid might be, I'm sure you don't want him hearing you."_

 _Damiano sneered._

" _Oh, he can hear it, alright! I don't care! I'll go right up to him and say it to his smug face! Where do you reckon he is?!"_

" _Sleeping? It's way past his bedtime!" Mihail cackled. Then, sobering up a little, he turned to his teammates. "Actually... he really_ might _be. It's nearly midnight."_

" _I see you thinking." Aqil declared. "I don't like it when you think."_

" _Oh, shut up. But yes, I_ am _thinking! What if – what if the four of us went up there and taught him a lesson? Rough him up a bit. Or you know, actually killed him? I bet nobody would mind!"_

" _Good riddance, I'd say!"_

" _Yeah, yeah! Let's do it, whaddya say, Aqil?"_

 _The dark-haired swordsman huffed, giving his teammates a look that clearly conveyed he thought that they were idiots._

" _You go do that." He said, "And when you die, I'm taking your shoes. At least o_ ne _of you has to have something in my size and anything's better than these lousy sneakers anyway." He nodded down at his feet. There was a hole in his left shoe._

A lot has changed since that time, of course, but Prince Bel still somehow manages to surprise him.

The (unconfirmed) fact that his sister is just as dead as the frequently-mentioned and unlamented twin brother, is something that has been widely accepted as a general truth within the Varia. No one doubts it, and the Storm Guardian has certainly never given them any reason to believe otherwise.

So then... why is he standing in front of a common-looking apartment in downtown Milan, holding a letter addressed to a certain _Prinsessa Helena_? Mihail isn't sure, but he's about to find out.

Mentally preparing himself, the 29-year-old Varia Officer rings the bell.

A moment passes, and then another, and when he's finally starting to wonder if he should ring again, the door is pulled open.

It is not a nine-year-old princess that stands in front of him. It's not a nine-year-old of any kind. Instead, it's a shortish sort of woman with a mass of curly black hair and a pair of square glasses poised on her nose. She's wearing a green turtle-neck and a pair of faded jeans.

It takes exactly three seconds for her eyes to land on the emblem on his jacket.

"Can I help you?" She asks in clipped but not impolite Italian.

"I'm looking for Princess Helena."

She sucks in a deep breath, nodding. She looks like she had been expecting it.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you were sent by Prince Belphegor?"

"You would be."

"Well, no point in delaying you then. Come on in...?"

"Mihail."

"Mihail." The woman repeats. "My name is Ottavia. I used to be employed as a maid in the Royal Palace."

They shake hands, and that's that.

As Mihail follows Ottavia the ex-maid into her apartment, he finds it a bit hard to believe any relative of Prince Belphegor's would be living here. Not that it's a suspicious-looking place, or not well taken care of, but it's... small. He counts exactly four doors other than the front door, and there's an archway leading to the kitchen.

Ottavia leads him into the living room, picks up a science textbook off the couch and invites him to sit down. He does so.

"The Princess is out at the moment but she should be back in a couple of minutes or so. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Some tea?"

"That's kind of you, but no thanks." Mihail replies. As an assassin, he makes a point never to accept any drinks from strangers... or even from people he knows – the Varia has a strange sense of humour, and various types of poisoning really isn't Mihail's idea of a fun weekend.

Ottavia smiles a little, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"You may make it yourself, if that will put you at ease."

Well, he can't exactly say no to _that_ , can he? He's getting free coffee.

"Well, a cup of coffee then."

The two of them settle into a somewhat tense silence after they move to the kitchen and Ottavia leaves the room to call Princess Helena a few moments after that. It becomes pretty obvious pretty soon, that this is not an ordinary civilian house. Other than the fact that it is housing a missing princess and her maid, as Mihail opens the fridge door in search of some milk, he finds a pink grenade next to the carton with the eggs instead.

It's weird, but admittedly not the weirdest thing he's ever seen. He lives with the _Varia_ , for Christ's sake, it takes some pretty intense shit to top _that_.

So ignoring the pink grenade, Mihail reaches out for the milk (he _was_ told to take whatever he needed) and pours some of it into his coffee. He likes his coffee nice and milky, unlike Aqil, who likes it as black as the depths of his soul.

That's when Ottavia comes back and offers to put the milk back herself.

"Oh for God's sake!" She hisses as she opens the fridge, "Why is there a _grenade_ in here?!"

"You know, I wondered that myself." Mihail chuckles as he takes a sip of his coffee, "Granted, I've seen weirder things in my lifetime... you wouldn't believe the things people come up with back at the HQ."

Ottavia hums.

"I guess it must have been the kids. You have kids, Mihail?"

"...No, I can't say I do."

"Neither do I. But my brother has one and the two of them are here all the time... I'm taking care of the Princess too, of course. So I suppose I am a guardian, if not a mother, myself."

Mihail slowly nods. He feels like something else is coming, but Ottavia never gets to it because the sound of a door opening is heard, and a new voice rings out from the hallway.

"Ottavia? I'm back."

"Ah, there she is. Go on to the living room, Princess Helena be there in a moment."

Mihail nods and turns around to do as told. He can hear Ottavia talking to the nine-year-old princess in a hushed tone, fussing over her for a moment, and so he busies himself with drinking some more of his coffee. It's really good, if he does say so himself.

It doesn't take the mystery princess long to join him.

"Ottavia, could you make me some tea, please?"

"Of course, Princess."

The girl that stands before him is... well, she's small. Which is not entirely unexpected, considering she is nine years old, but still. He's not sure he would have recognised her had he not been sent here to meet her in the first place.

This _has_ to be Princess Helena; Prince Bel's little sister.

And indeed, she has the blond hair, and the aristocratic, upturned nose... but other than that, there's sadly little that he can use to link this girl with his Commander. He supposes this is largely due to the fact that there are no bangs covering her bright, bright blue eyes. He wonders for the fraction of a second whether or not Prince Bel shares the same eyes as his sister but he doesn't know – he's never seen them.

There's something else missing too, and Mihail is embarrassed to say that it takes him a couple of moments to realise that Belphegor's sister is _not wearing a crown_. His Commander's _little sister_ is not wearing a crown. Or a tiara. Or a coronet. Or any kind of headgear that might point towards the fact that she is royalty. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

It's so astounding and unexpected that Mihail nearly drops his cup of coffee.

"You must be Mihail." She says, and this is something Mihail _does_ recognise, "I am Princess Helena of Accidia."

He recognises it. The tilt of the head, the smile on her lips, the way she looks at him with eyes that do not _belong_ on the face of a child. It sends shivers down his spine.

His commander doesn't do that – he'd much rather go for crazy grins and bloodshed instead of play nice. But even so... _even so_... that their upbringing was of the same kind is something Mihail can _see_.

The world is underneath their feet. _A dirty stain on the carpet_.

"Yes, I am."

She moves around him, seats herself down across from him in a graceful, dignified manner Mihail has _seen_ Prince Bel pull off before, typically when he decides that politics – dirty, underhanded politics – is his way out of a situation.

It's a switch he has only witnessed a couple of times before and he'd be perfectly happy not to repeat it ever again... because, frankly, he has no idea which Belphegor is the most terrifying: the one that will slit your throat in a blood-induced frenzy and then laugh about it, or the one that is cold and calculating, and can talk of the murder of an entire family with a friendly smile on his face.

Mihail quickly pulls the envelope out of his jacket, turning it over and sliding it across the coffee table.

"My Commander asked me to deliver this." He explains, "I don't know what's in it, but I'm supposed to bring it back once you've read and answered it."

Princess Helena nods her head in understanding, picks up the envelope and examines the words written on it. It's her name, but if she can actually read it is an entirely different matter altogether. Somebody once told Prince Bel that his cursive was difficult to read, so ever since then the blonde royal has put all of his efforts into making his cursive completely illegible.

She turns the envelope over after a moment, and opens it.

There seems to be a note inside. It isn't long, from what Mihail can see, but whatever it is she spends some time reading it before putting it down on the table, smoothing it out, and grabbing a pen of her own.

She doesn't write down on the paper though, instead, she leaves the room for a moment, returns with three thick volumes of a book Mihail can't read from where he's standing, and starts rapidly browsing through it.

Ottavia comes in and brings Princess Helena her cup of tea. The cup is drained and whatever it is she's looking for, the Princess still hasn't found it. It really makes Mihail wonder what on Earth the note could have been about. Ottavia starts chatting to him about the weather.

Finally, half an hour after he had given her the envelope, Princess Helena picks up her pen, writes down a reply on the same sheet of paper her brother had used to write his note, gives a satisfied nod, and proceeds to fold and put the paper back into the envelope. When she's done, she slides it back to him in much the same way as it had been delivered.

"I believe that should be satisfactory." She says, "Is my brother's handwriting always that bad?"

Which makes Mihail cough into his hand in an attempt to hide his laughter, because she now has that exact same look Aqil always gives him when Mihail does something that leaves him Not Impressed™.

"I'm afraid so." He admits with a wry smile, "One of his teammates told him he couldn't read his handwriting. And, well, it's only gotten worse since."

It's the Princess's turn to hide a smile now, even though she fails.

"Sounds like Bel." She admits.

She looks much more like a child like that, and Mihail finds that he prefers it. He'd much rather deal with _this_ Princess Helena.

"Yeah, it does."

~X~

 _As anyone could have expected, Mihail, Viktor and Damiano's plan to storm into Prince Belphegor's quarters and 'rough him up a bit' it didn't go well._

 _For one, the entire room was a mess. The moment they stepped inside, Viktor ended up tripping over a discarded PlayStation console and went down with no small amount of cussing. It also seemed that upon landing he had fallen on a squeaky toy._

" _Shit! Be quiet, will you?"_

" _Well, I can't help it! This room is a mess!"_

" _No kidding…! Guess that's what happens when you're used to maids doing all the work for you, huh?"_

" _Would you two mind shutting up?!"_

 _Which was their second mistake – they weren't being very quiet at all. If there had been any chance that Prince Belphegor had slept through the hassle that was Viktor falling over a console, then the men's arguing would have woken him up anyway._

 _And it did._

" _You know... for three peasants aspiring to become assassins, you'd think that at least one of you would be familiar with the art of being quiet."_

 _Shrouded as he was by darkness, Mihail could only make out Prince Bel's silhouette. He was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, and didn't sound amused._

" _You know..." Damiano countered angrily, "For such a tiny kid, you sure have a big mouth!"_

 _Prince Belphegor didn't like that. But it wasn't like he could do much while sitting in bed, away from all of his signature knives, right?_

 _Wrong._

 _Three knives sank deep into Damiano's skin, and the blonde recruit howled with pain. Mihail started to move towards him, but a knife swished by his ear and made him stop in his tracks._

 _(Assuming that Prince Belphegor was unarmed that night… well, that was their biggest mistake)._

" _Okay! You listen here, you little shit-!"_

 _A second later, Viktor was on the ground, an eight-year-old little demon on his chest... grinning and laughing and digging a knife into just about every inch of skin he could find. Viktor was_ disembowelled right _before his eyes._

 _And himself... well... just as his young Commander was turning his way -_

" _VOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIIIII! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?! THERE ARE PEOPLE TRYING TO SLEEP IN THIS CASTLE, YOU KNOW!"_

 _He was saved by the yell._

 _Damiano was taken to the Varia's medical wing shortly after his discovery, but his lungs had been hit and he didn't survive the night. Since it was technically self-defence, Prince Belphegor didn't get told off for his actions either. That Mihail got away without anything worse than a couple of scratches and a lifelong trauma that night, he knows is nothing short of a miracle._

He thinks back at that night nowadays and realises how stupid that decision had been. It was dumb, presumptuous and unprofessional: not at all _Varia Quality_.

But Prince Belphegor had more than proved himself during that coup d'etat five years ago. Any last doubters, Mihail included, gave up on trying to usurp his position as the Varia's Storm Guardian because after that day, they all knew. They saw it first hand, _the furious Storm that never rests, contentiously at the heart of the attack._

Yes, Prince Belphegor might be an entitled rich brat, and yes, he might drive them crazy on the best of days... but he is also a brilliant Commander, and an asset to the Varia, and really, life is never dull with him around.

And besides, Prince Bel is Xanxus' chosen _Guardian_.

As Mihail returns to the Varia castle that evening, having enjoyed a nice day off, he makes sure to pass by his Commander's office in order to deliver his sister's note. Prince Bel has returned from Salerno, Varia uniform covered in a healthy dose of freshly-spilled blood (by Varia standards, at least), and he looks up as Mihail comes in.

"Back already, peasant?"

"Not much is open on a Sunday afternoon," Mihail shrugs, "so I didn't do much more than take a walk through Milan." He digs the envelope out of his jacket and hands it over to the younger assassin.

Prince Bel accepts it eagerly and pulls out the note. His hidden eyes skim over the answer – whatever it may be – and Mihail gets the impression that he's satisfied.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed it!**


	21. Belphegor's note

In the back of my mind, I think I had always known that while a reunion with Bel was rather unlikely, it wasn't _entirely_ out of the question yet. As long as there was no news of missing royalty being found, no sightings and no new hints concerning his location, it meant that Bel was still out there somewhere. Maybe not close, maybe not aware of my whereabouts – but definitely _out_ _there_. The chances of me actually meeting him were one in a million, one in a _zillion_ , but even if the chance was miniscule that didn't change the fact that it was still a possibility.

At least, that's what I had figured for the biggest part of my second childhood.

That, of course, was all before I actually discovered the truth about the Mafia, my caretaker and the fact that nearly everybody I know, _myself somehow included_ , is affiliated with crime and the illegal. That was before I found out Bel has been in the same country as me for the last six years, keeping track of my movements and sending me pointy and dangerous presents on my birthdays. _Now_ I think that a reunion with my estranged brother is not that unlikely after all. It's actually… rather likely. Rather _very_ likely.

So I ask you; what would _you_ do in a situation like mine? What would any sane person do?

Well, I'm not sure if 'sane' is a word that can be used to describe me, because the first question I ask myself as soon as I've calmed down is: Well… do I _want_ to meet Bel?

The fact that I'm even considering it, I realise, is insane. Because _of course_ I shouldn't want to meet Bel – he nearly killed me! The fact that he's so close to me, close enough to look up, should have me running in the opposite direction.

But then again… I guess I never have been normal, have I?

It isn't easy, being an adult reborn into the body of a baby. It's disorienting, and scary, and frustrating… and above all else, it is simply mind-numbingly boring. Those days are starting to fade to the back of my mind now. I don't remember that much about being a baby – I can scarcely even recall what my mother looked like in those moments, when she would hold me close and sing sweet lullabies I couldn't understand the words of.

I _do_ remember the day on which she died but I figure that that's mostly because of the shock – the first murder I ever witnessed… even if I didn't actually see it. Wouldn't that have left an impression on anyone?

But my recollection of those days is hazy. It feels distant some days, like it didn't really happen to me. What I do remember is my later years, the time spent gallivanting around the castle in an aimless pursue of entertainment because there was precious little for a child like me to do in a place like that, where all of my belongings were children's' puzzles, toys and picture books.

At that point in life, Bel had been the closest thing I'd had to a friend. He had been my only friend… and, really, wouldn't that by default make him my best friend as well…?

We used to spend so much time together, traipsing the castle hallways, making silly impersonations of our shared tutors; just keeping ourselves busy. For a child of six, seven and eight years of age respectively, my brother could sure hold an intelligent conversation when he was bothered to. I didn't even have to reply much; back when he had first started to 'hang out', I had barely been able to pronounce a couple of words – sentences had been a skill not yet within my reach.

It used to strike me as odd that a child five years my senior would want to spend his time with a little kid like me… after all, I was hardly top notch entertainment. But I guess that maybe Bel might have been lonely as well, all alone in that castle? Even if him and his brother had gotten along, Rasiel's schedule was much busier than Bel's was. So maybe all he did was reach out to the only other royal that was bound to have free time: _me_.

Either way, I appreciate the gesture; I appreciate all of the puzzles he snuck out of his room, and the hours spent showing me parts of the castle that had been unknown to me before. I think back to those times specifically, and really, it hadn't been _that_ bad.

During those years, Bel had been my only source of entertainment – a weird mix between a big brother, a friend and a kid I wished I could take care of.

Those feelings aren't gone; they're still there, kind of like how I feel about Lambo but _different_ because Lambo is this kid who both does and doesn't need to be looked after by me – I take care of him in a big sister sort of way… but parenting? That's not something I need to worry about as long as he's got Toro and Ottavia to look out for him. Lambo doesn't cause me nearly as much worry, or concern, as Bel and Rasiel did back in the day.

(Then again, Lambo isn't going out at night-time and returning with dead animals either, so I suppose that's an important distinction).

And yes, Bel might have been a creepy kid in his own right sometimes – the nightly excursions, the dead animals, his love for knives – but even so that doesn't change the fact that he is my brother. _My_ brother. Just like Lambo is _my_ kind-of nephew, and Ottavia is _my_ guardian/surrogate mother. Nobody can take that from me.

So, yes, there is a part of me that wants to see him again.

But does the thought of _actually_ meeting Bel scare me as well? Of course it does; the mere thought of it turns my insides to ice.

The prospect of meeting my brother terrifies and excites me in equal measures and I'm not quite sure what to make of that because this person has tried to _kill_ me in the past. My mind wanders back to that _horrible_ game of hide and seek, the stench of blood, that tiny cupboard, and I have to sternly tell myself that it's okay: nothing's here. No eerie counting, no threats, and the footsteps I hear in the distance belong to Ottavia, not to Bel.

I need to tell myself that I'm _safe_.

But still, it raises a question: Should Bel really come looking for me – which I'm sure wouldn't be hard, considering he already knows where I live – how am I supposed to react? What is the reaction that _doesn't_ get me killed?

I carefully read over Rena's information a few more times before deciding that, as long as his intentions don't involve hurting me or my new family, it wouldn't be a bad idea to be on a good standing with Belphegor. I don't want to end up like Rasiel did, and if Bel makes the first step, I'm going to do my best to give him exactly what he wants.

 _("If Bel tries to contact me," I tell Ottavia one day, "I want you to do everything you can to stay on his good side."_

 _The Mafioso turned maid (turned Mafioso again?) tilts her head curiously, but she seems content to follow my instructions. There's something about the way she looks at me, an approving sort of look in her eyes, that makes me believe she's in complete agreement with this new decision of mine._

 _She doesn't want Bel against her any more than I do. Which is understandable, considering the two of us were the lone survivors of his last murderous rampage. An experience like that creates a bond between two people, I figure._

 _She inclines her head, like a personal maid taking an order from her Queen, and speaks._

" _As you wish, Highness.")_

That said, I really don't expect Bel to contact us _that soon_ after my decision is taken. Barely a fortnight has passed before I get a phone call from Ottavia one morning, informing me that a Varia assassin has been sent by Bel to talk to me. She tells me that he's currently in the kitchen making himself a cup of coffee and that I should finish whatever I'm doing and get home soon. He seems patient, but you can never know what orders he's operating under.

I hang up feeling bit nervous; which I believe is fully justified considering I've just been told an _assassin_ has asked to meet me. I close the book I'd been reading – a murder mystery novel by some relatively unknown writer – and push myself up from the chair I'd been sitting in. Looks like my reading time has been cut short.

I pick up the book, consider whether or not I actually want to go on reading it, and decide that, no – it's so riddled with clichés that bringing it home is not truly worth it. I decide to return it to its isle instead. Since books are organised alphabetically by authors' last names and genre, it takes me a while to walk back to the front of the library and when I finally get there, I manage to walk right into someone as I turn the corner.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

I frown a bit but don't dignify the rude comment with an answer; I'm in a hurry right now. I kneel down to pick up my fallen book instead, but apparently so does the stranger because suddenly a hand brushes against mine. That's the moment when I look up and am met by a pool of green eyes – they're a duller kind of green, not like the ones so often referred to in books – but they're still very pretty all the same. Too bad that it's all ruined by the scowl on his face.

"Here, this is yours, right?" I ask, quickly collecting both of our books and handing him his. "I've got to go, sorry for bumping into you."

I'm out of the library by one o'clock and it usually takes me an additional quarter of an hour to walk back to Ottavia's place but today I somehow manage to cross the distance in ten. I'm almost running by the time I reach the front door and realising that that won't do, I quickly stop myself and straighten up.

If I'm about to meet someone Bel sent over, I need to make a good first impression.

That said, according to Accidian royalty, a 'good first impression' doesn't necessarily involve being nice: it involves looking like you know more than you do and convincing the other that you're not to be trifled with. This is something I learnt from my old etiquette tutor, an irksome woman I can barely even remember the name of anymore, but I always fall back on her teachings when I need to act like the person people _expect_ me to be, rather than who I actually am.

I take in a breath, close my eyes, and exhale. When I open them again, I tell myself that I am Helena of Accidia. First daughter of the King and Queen, and the current Crown Princess.

" _His name is Mihail and he's waiting in the living room,"_ Ottavia tells me in Swedish as soon as I get inside. Her voice is lowered to a whisper and she grabs me by the shoulders, narrowed eyes on my forehead. She huffs. _"What did you do with your hair?!"_

" _It was windy."_ I explain with a shrug as my guardian quickly runs her fingers through my shoulder-length blonde hair, trying to tame it a bit before I need to go in and talk to Bel's subordinate. Speaking of which… _"What should I expect?"_

" _Oh, he's nice enough."_ Ottavia assures, _"Don't let that distract you though; I know we didn't really get the time to talk about this because I didn't think it was going to be_ relevant _this soon, but the Varia… well, be careful around them, alright? Half the mafia doesn't even believe they're human."_

I nod my head.

" _Of course. When have you ever known me be careless, Ottavia?"_ The look Ottavia sends me is not one of amusement or confidence in my skills. I guess I'm not off the hook for the whole Reborn debacle quite yet after all… Ottavia had been livid when Lambo told her about that – and that was _before_ he mentioned he threw a grenade at the baby-sized hitman. _"Alright, maybe not, but I can handle this. It's what I wanted, remember?"_

" _I know. I can't deny that being in Prince Belphegor's good books would be hugely advantageous to all of us… but I still wish you didn't have to endanger yourself so."_

" _I'll be fine; Bel wouldn't send someone else if killing me had been his intention. I should be relatively safe in there."_ Ottavia sighs and I know she knows that I'm right – if Bel had wanted me dead, he'd be the one sitting in the living room, not his subordinate.

At least, sending someone else to do the dirty work doesn't strike me as a very Bel thing to do.

" _Very well. But just so you know, if having assassins over is about to become a habit, you're getting a weapon; I don't_ care _if it's Lambo's pink grenades or a damn rocket launcher, you're keeping it with you 24/7."_

" _Yes ma'am."_ I grin and Ottavia rolls her eyes at me before saying that I'd better get going, we don't want to keep our guest waiting for too long.

~ X ~

There's a letter.

 _Belphegor_ has actually sent me a _letter_. I'm not sure how I manage to keep my face neutral in the face of this development, but as I reach out for the envelope, slide it closer to myself and pick it up, a sense of foreboding fills my chest. The paper feels sort of scratchy beneath my skin, and I take a moment to inspect the spot on which my name has been written.

 _Prinsessa Helena_ , it says, written in what might possibly be the worst penmanship I've ever laid my eyes upon. It's a mix between cursive and illegible chicken scratch.

I tear the envelope open as carefully as I possibly can and pull out the letter.

Then again, looking at the contents, a letter is perhaps not the word I'm looking for… it's much more of a note – just a line long, written in that same messy handwriting that's on the envelope. And, oh, it's a question.

 _According to Accidian law, when is somebody other than the King or council allowed to authorise an execution?_

Which is weird, because what kind of a question is that anyway? I turn the note over but it's blank.

Ah, some sort of a test, then? _A game?_

Well, if _that's_ what Bel wants… I don't really mind playing along.

* * *

 **A/N: Just a (relatively) small chapter this time around. I was actually going to upload this at some point during the weekend but then I felt guilty about my recent inactivity and decided that I might as well let you all read this today. I might update again on Saturday. Maybe, if luck and inspiration are on my side.**

 **A lot of you were curious about the contents of Bel's note, so now you know! Kind of a random question to ask, no? Don't worry though, Bel knows what he's doing.**

 **Thoughts? Questions? Leave a review and let me know!**


	22. Of tests and expectations

Even with Mihail acting as our intermediary, I never actually get to see Bel face to face.

This realisation is severely underwhelming, not only because I had been so certain a reunion with Bel was imminent right after receiving that first note, but also because I had gone through the trouble of mentally preparing myself for the occasion as well. Four months down the road, I still haven't seen hide nor hair of my brother and I'm starting to wonder if I ever actually will.

These last few months Bel has taken to sending me puzzles, quizzes and any other sources of testing material he can get his hands upon. I'm not sure where he gets them from or if he actually comes up with them himself but it doesn't seem like there is a specific theme or pattern involved, and even the topics vary greatly from one another.

One day I might be researching Imperial China or Darwin's Theory of Evolution, while next time I meet Mihail, Bel has me solving maths problems or riddles. All of his assignments seem to be at roughly the same level though, uncertain at first, with lots of experimental questions here and there as he tries to gauge what I can and can't do – what my capacities are, mentally speaking – and more assured as we go on, steadily raising the difficulty as he sees fit. This is how he lulls me into a false sense of security, only to shake it up with something completely random like this morning's easiest Sudoku, or – always the bane of my existence – a question sheet which looks like it belongs in a University text book and not on Ottavia's coffee table.

The only thing I can say for sure is that a lot of thought must have been put into this entire thing.

I can see it in the way that it's structured, the haphazard mess that doesn't seem to have an order, and the way Belphegor makes every part of it a challenge. Even deciphering his notes is difficult, what with that notoriously bad handwriting which looks just a little bit worse every time I read it. It's nearly illegible and it takes more than a few educated guesses to get through the more difficult words, but somewhere in it I can see the brilliant mind that belongs to Bel.

This isn't just Bel being bored.

(Though, yes, he probably does get entertainment from knowing I often grouch at his terrible penmanship).

This isn't Bel being careless. In fact, it's quite the opposite.

It's a test.

With every new note that arrives, every new test Mihail gives to me, it feels like Bel is judging me – like he's still deciding whether or not having me around is worth it. It's like he's watching – weighing his options, waiting to see if I'll go wrong somewhere.

He obviously thought I was worth keeping around on the day of the massacre but we both know that that was a long time ago. It's been six years since that day and I'm just not that tiny child anymore; I don't doubt that Bel, too, has changed a lot. Only one third of my life has been spent with Bel and when it comes down to it that amounts to merely three years of our lives, it's understandable that Bel wouldn't choose to blindly put his trust in me.

After all, what are three years to a fourteen-year-old?

No, Bel is giving me a _chance_ right now. A one-time privilege he doesn't extend to just anyone, and it's a sort of make it or break it situation. If Mihail's words are anything to go by, then it'd be in my best interest not to blotch it: Belphegor has high expectations and isn't known for giving second chances.

So I tackle my workload with the utmost diligence. I don't fool around or give half-assed answers on the questions and it seems that my efforts are rewarded because on the rare occasions when I manage to wring some information out of my brother's subordinate, he tells me that if Bel was dissatisfied with my performance, I'd _know_.

I'm not sure if I want to know the details surrounding the infallible certainty in Mihail's voice, so I simply deign not to ask.

Gradually, there's a shift in questions. The contents don't really change but all of a sudden I'm discovering something entirely new about my brother. _That kid knows a truly ridiculous amount of languages._ Where for the first two months of our communication Bel had written to me exclusively in our native Swedish, April brings with it a change in pace.

The first time it happens, it's in Italian.

That doesn't strike me as very odd, I mean, we do live in Italy, don't we? But it's when we move on to third and fourth languages that my interest starts to get piqued.

French and English don't come to me with any difficulty – they're both languages I know and speak very well – but eventually we get to the languages that I _don't_ actually know.

There's Ancient Greek and Latin, and frankly, I can't even begin to imagine when Bel would have taught himself Hindi, Russian _and_ Korean.

" _Knowing a minimum of seven languages is a requirement for anyone that wants to become a fully-fledged member of the Varia."_ Mihail takes pity and informs me. _In Swedish._

(Well, shit. What was the point of Ottavia and I using Swedish around him then?)

" _Of course, my Commander knows many more."_ English. Followed by…. something else.

I give him a blank stare. One that tells him I'm not amused with him and his smug expression.

"Don't know Modern Greek?" Mihail's back to using Italian now – a small mercy, but I'm glad to accept. "I said you're quite impressive yourself, little Lady. Swedish, Italian, French, English… and aren't you being taught Japanese as well?"

That's five languages – certainly a lot more than your average nine-year-old is expected to know – but…

"How many languages does Bel know?" How many did he know at my age? I know for a fact that he did at least French, Italian and Latin while back at home… add Swedish to that and he'd still be short three languages to meet Varia standards.

Mihail doesn't answer my question with anything more than a shrug to indicate that he doesn't actually know.

"Probably fewer than our Mist Commander. But it should still be an impressive number."

So yes, I get a lot questions in _a lot_ of different languages from that point onwards, and deciphering _those_ takes up even more time than his usual notes do – partly because I'm sometimes not even sure what language Bel is using.

At times like those I thank the Gods above for handy inventions like Google Translate which, while not always as reliable as I'd have liked, are at least an adequate starting point for getting my work done within the allotted time.

I'm not vain enough to believe my work is perfect – or even correct for that matter – and I certainly don't try to reply in the same language Bel is using when I don't know enough about it, but I do have to say that's it's rewarding.

The work he assigns might be exhausting, and I'm not sure if he actually expects me to be able to do this stuff, but he is making one thing clear: if I want to gain his approval, I'll have to work for it.

In the end I guess that knowledge questions can only get you so far. They might be useful for telling Bel what I already know, and what I'm capable of finding out if given the right resources, but it doesn't tell him anything about _me_. Four months after his first visit, Mihail finally comes home with a different kind of note.

There's no maths. No history. No absurd question about the economy of a country I can't pronounce the name of. No, there's only one question and it seems like this time around Bel is interested in finding out what _I_ have to say on the matter, instead of parroting my books.

I count it as a personal victory.

~X~

"My Boss wants to meet you."

It's a simple enough statement, all things considered.

My Boss wants to meet you. Six words translating into a statement of fact. Ottavia's Boss wants to meet me. Simple. Precise. And yet it causes my grip to go slack, eyes slightly widened as I turn my body and face my caretaker.

"… What?"

"My Boss." Ottavia as-a-matter-of-factly states as she shakes off her coat. "He told me he wants to meet you."

She holds the offending object out in front of her for a moment, inspecting the way it's dripping on the carpeted floor, and lets out a disgusted noise. She isn't in a much better state herself because her dark, unruly hair is wet and matted against her forehead, her clothes sticking to her skin.

I quickly leave the living room to retrieve a towel and by the time I get back, I discover that Ottavia has already kicked her shoes off, abandoned all semblance of proper conduct, and is halfway through unbuttoning her shirt.

She uses the towel to dry her face and then proceeds to wrap it around her body, a string of muttered profanities pouring out of her mouth.

"It's raining outside." She tells me when she's done, stepping over her wet clothes and making a straight line towards her bedroom. She doesn't turn around to check if I'm following, because she knows I will anyway.

"Strangely enough," I tell her as a smile tugs on my lips. "I noticed."

I lean my back against the wall, folding my arms behind my back. Behind the closed door, I can hear Ottavia rummaging through her wardrobe for a set of dry clothes. It doesn't take her long, and a couple of moments later I decide to speak up again.

"So, this Boss of yours…" I tilt my head a little, chin up and facing the ceiling. "Is he…?"

"He's Don Bovino." Ottavia confirms easily. "Look, I'll tell you more in a moment… where are Toro and Lambo? They didn't go out in this weather, did they?"

I hum.

"Lambo sure wanted to. You know how he loves thunder storms… but no, Toro convinced him to stay inside. I do believe they're fixing up some dinner for you."

"Dinner?" Ottavia's voice sounds distinctly distressed. Rightfully so, too, because we've all been on the receiving end of Toro's 'cooking' before. While he isn't necessarily a _bad_ cook, Toro is rather clumsy and… he does have a penchant for _… experimenting_. Lambo pitching in to 'help' usually doesn't do much good.

Correction: Lambo pitching in to help with anything is usually a bad thing.

"There's some of today's lunch still left in the fridge." I divulge sympathetically.

"Potato salad?"

"And some bread… and stuff… you can probably fix yourself something up."

"Fair enough."

The door opens and out comes Ottavia, looking significantly less miffed now that she isn't actually drenched from head to toe. Her hair is still wet, and the towel I brought her is slung over her shoulders, but she's wearing a new, dry shirt and a pair of grey jeans.

"Well, let's go face the monster then." She declares, nodding her head in a way that would suggest she's about to enter a battle against a great, ferocious beast. Or maybe she's just really not looking forward to finding out what state her kitchen is in. It could be that. It's probably that.

The kitchen… well… nothing has been blasted off its hinges yet, and there are no fire alarms going off, so I suppose that is progress. On the not so bright side, Toro seems to be doing something flashy with whatever is in his pan so it might still be too early to rejoice.

Slightly comforting is the fact that Lambo seems to have lost all interest in cooking sometime during the past thirty minutes and is now sitting in his chair with Toro's cell phone, playing some game and laughing obnoxiously each time he scores a couple of points.

Ottavia seems to pick up on this too, because she gains the confidence to walk through the kitchen door, affectionately ruffle her nephew's hair, and make her way over to Toro in order to peer over his shoulder and find out what exactly he's making.

I prefer to keep a distance.

"Oh! Hey there, sis. Back from work?" The sound Ottavia makes resembles a grunt more than it does a reply. "Busy day?"

"Quite." Ottavia concedes. "What's that you're making?"

"Omelettes, but with a twist."

"Joy. Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm dead on my feet and there's something I need to talk to you about."

The fact that Toro's omelettes look and even _smell_ edible, is something I decide not to take at face value. Ever since Lambo came to live with him, Toro has decided to be The Best Dad To Ever Dad in this world of Dads, and that apparently involves home-cooked meals. Now, roughly four years down the road, cooking isn't just a necessary evil he needs to perform to feed himself and his son– it's become his _passion_. Unfortunately, Toro also vehemently refuses to take advice from cookbooks. I pour myself a glass of water and let Ottavia brave the meal.

It must at the very least be edible, because she makes an agreeable, pleasantly surprised sound, and digs in for more.

"So what did you kids do today?"

"Lambo-san won at hide and seek!"

"Oh yes, Lambo was the _star_ of the game!" Toro excitedly tells his sister. "I thought I'd never find him! And you should have seen him against Helena – he ran so fast! Poor princess didn't stand a chance!"

Lambo looks pleased with the praise so I simply smile and roll my eyes. We get stuck on that conversation topic for a good fifteen minutes as Ottavia eats her dinner and the father-son duo enthusiastically recount the tale of today's game of hide and seek.

It wasn't quite as spectacular as Toro makes it out to be, and Lambo _definitely_ makes up about half of his part of the story, but it's still good fun. I grant them the mercy of not mentioning that, _yes_ , I actually did see Lambo hiding under the carpet, and Lambo definitely won that last game because I let him, but then again they're nice enough not to mention that we had to stop playing twenty minutes into the game because Toro's footsteps approaching my hiding place made me panic.

Ottavia finishes up her omelettes, wipes her hands on a napkin, and takes a moment to observe us all. Finally, she brings up the subject.

"I had a visitor at work today." She prompts. "Boss wants to meet Helena."

"The Principessa? What for?"

"Didn't say." Ottavia shrugs, "If you want my guess on the matter though," and she looks at me now "I'd say it's probably because Prince Belphegor finally made contact. You know how the higher ups are – wouldn't want the Vongola to snatch her away."

"God no, they've already got one of them on their payroll, don't they? Even if they can't fight, big names make a Family's name weigh more."

Lambo, who had been quiet this far, opens his mouth to speak up.

"Is Nena gonna be Family?"

"I don't know, Lambo. That's not our decision to make, remember?"

"But Nena should be Family! Nenaa! Join the Family!" Lambo turns to look at me with big, hopeful, green eyes – as if he's asking me to join a play date and not the Italian _Mafia_. "You can be Lambo-san's first subordinate!"

"Ahh… Lambo- "

"It's not that simple." Ottavia saves me from replying. "And anyway, this is just a meeting. He didn't specify a when, but we shouldn't keep him waiting for too long."

Well… that sounds downright sinister. What would the repercussions for _not_ showing up be? Apparently sensing my discomfort, Toro laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder.

"Aww, don't worry, Principessa! You'll love Don Antonio, he's everybody's grandpa."

"Oh… is he?"

That doesn't sound very convincing. I mean, I'm not exactly sure what I envision the Boss of a Mafia Famiglia to be like (Vito Corleone) … but… 'everybody's grandpa'? That isn't it.

"Don Antonio won't hurt you." Ottavia reassures me. "You've been under his protection for a couple of years now, remember? His health has been deteriorating lately, so he probably just wants to meet you."

I make a little sound in the back of my throat because I'm not actually sure how to respond to that.

"Does this have to do with me being…" I vaguely gesture at myself, unsure of what exactly I want to say. Me? The Princess of a Kingdom currently lacking a monarch? Prince the Ripper's sister?

"Eligible to the throne? Likely. But I don't think it's the only factor coming into play. You should understand that your relation to Prince Belphegor – while not widely known – is a thing of interest. Not only because of your parentage, but because of the reputation your brother has built for himself."

"We don't even know what he wants with me…"

"They don't either." Toro remarks, "See, the thing our Boss fears right now is that you'll end up joining the Vongola."

"You think Bel is trying to get me to join a _Mafia Family_?"

"Well, no. I don't know. I've never met him, have I? If the fates are good to me I probably never will."

"What Toro is trying to explain is that nobody knows what Prince Belphegor is planning. He's rather well known, though… but you? Most people only know you as his sister. The sister that Prince The Ripper _spared_. As far as they're concerned that's not something that just happens."

From the look she's giving me, I can tell that as far as Ottavia's concerned, she doesn't think that's something that just happens either.

"So, what? We're a set to be collected? They already have one half, so why not get the other half as well?"

"Essentially. Or at least, that's what the Vongola _might_ be thinking." Ottavia explains, "Again, we don't know. The Bovino isn't actually allied with the Vongola, so it's not like we can just stroll over and ask them."

She does have a point, of course, but still… how did I end up in this entire mess?

In the end I just sigh, giving Ottavia a nod.

"Alright, fine. I'll do it."

* * *

 **A/N: I actually kept my promise and updated on time? Yes, it's true!**

 **Concerning Bel:**

 **Yes, he is testing Helena. Six years - almost seven, really- is a very long time to be apart - they don't really know each other at all, do they? The Helena Bel knows was a three-year-old child and it's safe to say that he realises she's not the same as she was back then. He certainly never disliked her though, and now that she's old enough to think for herself, he's willing to give her a chance to prove herself.**

 **That said, Bel has standards. He has _ideas_ about what royalty should be like (and yes, one of them is 'not being an ignorant peasant'... even if the things he asks of her are downright ridiculous from time to time. Like really, university level questions? Lmao Bel, not everyone is as gifted as you are). He doesn't expect her to do perfectly, by the way, he just wants to figure out what she can and can't handle. If Helena fails to meet his expectations, he figures that she wouldn't really be fit to be royalty or his sister - ergo, there's no point in keeping her around.**

 **That kid is twisted, I swear to god.**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter; the more important things are going to start happening now! Wooh!**

 **On another note, I finally sat down and put an order to all of the important stuff that still needs to happen in this fic (*gives myself a congratulatory pat on the back*), and BOY it's going to end up being a long story. I can't tell you exactly how long because I've got no idea yet, but it's gonna get busy.  
I recently wrote a small summary of what I want the epilogue to be like though, and I'm quite happy with where it's all heading. It's too early to speak of that though, we haven't even reached the daily life arc yet... haha, w** **e'll get there eventually.**

 **Anyway! What did you think of this chapter? Let me know by leaving a review!**


	23. Meet the Bovinos

Ever since he had first discovered Ottavia's new charge was actually Prince The Ripper's little sister, Don Bovino had wanted nothing more than to recruit her into his Famiglia.

Well... no; that would be a lie.

The first thing Don Antonio of the Bovino had wanted to do upon realising who the girl really was, was have her assassinated so he could sleep better at night. The _second_ thing he had wanted to do – as soon as he was convinced she _wouldn't_ one night slip into their homes and cut open their throats with a rusty dagger – was make her a part of his Family.

~X~

The weight of a crown on my head is something I haven't felt since the day I left Accidia. It feels familiar in a sense: not _too_ heavy, but still heavy enough to remind me of the fact that it's there - the thin, platinum band that goes all around the crown of my head, ending with the elevated part at the front, which is curvy and pretty and embedded with tiny jewels that probably cost more than anything else in this room.

Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure how Ottavia affords it. All I know is that on the morning of my meeting with her Boss, my caretaker presents me with a regal-looking wooden box which bears my family's royal coat of arms on its lid. Inside it, I find a new crown. One that looks a lot like the baby-sized coronet in my closet but more closely resembles Bel's design and shape.

I recall my tutors droning on about this long ago – the three sorts of crowns that are traditionally worn in my homeland. They're all especially crafted, personalised to fit its wearer's style and personality and as an Accidian Princess who is about to turn ten years old in a couple of months, I've finally reached that second stadium.

Normally, this would involve a lot of planning on my side – my first truly independent project as I devour books and knowledge in order to figure out the how's and what's of getting my own crown. I wouldn't have been the one to craft it, of course, but I _would_ have been in charge of deciding things like which materials ought to be used, and what exactly I want my crown to look like.

Then, on my tenth birthday, there would have been a great feast where I'd be presented with the finished product of my work and officially introduced to Accidian politics and high society.

Since we don't have the time to properly go through the motions of acquiring a new crown, Ottavia takes care of most of the dull work for me. We don't change anything about the composition of the crown, preferring to stick with the old and familiar materials my parents picked out for me upon my birth so that when it really comes down to it, I'm only in charge of the stylistic details.

My crown is delicate, refined and not too flashy: it stands out enough so that it may leave an impression, but not so much that I'll be inconvenienced by it. It describes me pretty well, I suppose.

"How does it fit?" Ottavia questions me. I turn my back to the mirror in order to face her, giving a small nod of approval.

"It's good." I affirm, moving my hand and cautiously lifting the crown off my head; I wouldn't want to damage something as valuable. Ottavia opens the lid of the box, allowing me to place the diadem back inside, and closes it as soon as I've retracted my hand. "How are we affording this, anyway?"

My caretaker's lips twitch upwards for a moment, as if amused.

"I _did_ spend nearly a decade in your Kingdom, Princess." She simply says, "Surely, you don't think that all I did was take care of young royals?" Ottavia puts the box down on the table, her hand lingering on the varnished wood for just a moment before she turns her gaze back towards me. "I may have come to Accidia as a favour to your mother, but I _am_ a Mafia woman born and bred."

… What's that supposed to mean?

"Did you blackmail someone?" I ask suspiciously, which prompts a hearty, amused laugh out of Ottavia.

"I have my ways." She assures me, which… isn't exactly a 'no', is it? Deciding that I'm probably better off not knowing anyway (they can't blame me for something I was never in the know of in the first place), I go back to my room and get ready for the day instead.

The dress I pull on is dark blue and soft to the touch; a design that looks a bit old-fashioned with the white shirt I wear beneath it, the cuffs rolled up and the white collar embracing the baseline of my neck. It does look proper though, and the crown on my head is the finishing touch needed to enforce my status.

~X~

Don Antonio of the Bovino Familgia is a stout man with a round, wrinkled face. As he sits on his chair, hands neatly folded on top of his desk, I'm strangely reminded of a High School principal, grey and balding, a man who has been dealing with the same stuff for so many years already that he doesn't truly remember when it all started.

His head is already turned in our direction when Ottavia and I walk into the room, my hands carefully pressed to my sides because I don't really know what else to do with them. Immediately, his gaze is upon me and I feel him watching me for what feels like hours but is probably closer to a couple of seconds in reality. Finally, a cautious but not unkind smile appears on Don Antonio's lips as he gets up to greet us.

"Ah, there you are." He says, "You must be Princess Helena? I've heard so much about you from Ottavia."

"I am." I take the offered hand and shake it. It is only after pleasantries are exchanged, after he has given me his full attention, that Don Bovino turns to Ottavia and tells her that he's happy we could make it, and would either of us care for any refreshments?

Ottavia politely declines, but I grab my chance and request a glass of cold water to quench my thirst. Nice as my dress is – it's not exactly summertime material. I only wish we'd have thought of that _before_ leaving the house.

Ah well, hindsight is a bitch, and all that.

"Of course, take a seat." Don Antonio says as he gestures for me to take a seat, moving around his desk in order to press a button and request a glass of cold water and a cappuccino; dark, the way he always has it.

Ottavia hovers over me like a watchful shadow, just a step behind my chair. It is precisely that knowledge – the fact that she is there with me – that gives me comfort. _That,_ and the fact that I've got about half a dozen of Lambo's toy grenades stuffed inside my handbag, just in case. Knowing that I'm not entirely defenceless is what stills my nervous hands and allows me to keep up this much needed act of serenity.

"I've sent for Gaetano but it would seem that he got held up on his way here." Don Antonio laughs in that strained manner only a parent can, throwing a quick glance at his watch. His eyebrows furrow and I can hear him tapping his foot against the wooden floor in impatience.

I smile politely and assure him that it's no trouble.

"It's nothing too serious, I hope?"

"No no, nothing to worry about. He'll be here in a moment, I am sure."

The door is opened then, and though all of us are expecting the elusive Gaetano to come in, it's just a lady holding a tray with our drinks. She gives us all a smile as she deposits them on the desk, wishes us a good day, and takes her leave again.

I have barely picked up my glass of water and brought it to my lips when the door is swung open for a second time, this time admitting a young man who looks like he's still halfway through the process of trying to get his arm into a dark blue blazer.

"Before you say anything - I know I'm late, I'm sorry. I was in the middle of something when you called though, and-"

" _Gaetano_. I'm sure we all get it; our guests arrived while you were elsewhere."

With one last, jerky movement, Gaetano shrugs on his blazer and comes to a stop. His gaze searches the room almost impatiently, an all too polite smile making its way to his lips when our eyes meet. His hair - dark and combed back with gratuitous amounts of hair gel - makes his light-coloured eyes stand out a lot more. I'm not sure why that is the first thing I notice about Gaetano Bovino, but it is. The second thing I notice about him is the rather obvious stain of lipstick on his neck.

He's also the only one who hasn't noticed it yet, if the disapproving look in Don Bovino's eyes is any indication.

"You're her, then?" Gaetano's lips press together while his eyebrows go up, a look of clear interest washing over his face, "You're Prince the Ripper's little sister?"

And well, if my opinion of him had been mediocre before, it's definitely pummelled now.

"My _name_ ," I coolly tell him, "is Princess Helena. Or simply Helena, if you like that better. Please stick to either of those when talking to me."

And yes, I do sound a bit like a bratty little rich kid – but frankly – I can't help it that my voice is squeaky and childlike. I trust that my eyes convey the message well enough anyway because Gaetano doesn't look particularly condescending, he just looks a bit taken aback.

Good.

I don't want to be _Prince the Ripper's little sister_. The first step to getting rid of that ridiculous _two pieces of a set_ idea, is to get it through to people that I won't abide by this mentality. I'm _me_ – and I won't have people judging me by anything other than that. Humming in response to the second, still unanswered part of Gaetano's question, I candidly tell him that -

"Yes, Prince Belphegor _is_ my brother, since you're asking."

 _He is my brother_ , as opposed to _I am his sister_. It's such a tiny thing, but small nuances like that are often important.

And just like that the conversation is over. Gaetano manages a hasty greeting without insulting anyone else and takes a seat in the second chair across from his father, lounging like men often do – with his arms and legs spread out, so that he's occupying as much space as physically possible. Antonio brushes over this with practiced ease, effectively capturing my attention, and from there on the conversation turns to something new. The small-talk doesn't last very long and it's a couple of minutes before we've reached what is apparently the main subject – the thing I've been called here for in the first place.

Don Antonio asks me if I've ever considered joining a Famiglia before, and follows it up with something… not entirely unexpected.

"I'd like to offer you a place here, your highness – the Bovino Famiglia would be very pleased to have you."

I lift my head to meet the man's eyes and my lips part to ask him a much-rehearsed question:

"I see. And what exactly is in it for me?"

(But apparently, I'm not the only one who's come to this meeting prepared).

Don Bovino smiles knowingly and I think he knows this too.

"Protection, for one. We can do a lot more for each other if it is in the name of the Family, don't you think? You won't need to be confined to Ottavia's house quite as much as you have been – we can take care of any incidents that might arise concerning your... identity. It will also ensure that incidents like the one with the Vongola's External Advisor don't happen again. You will have opportunities to rise through the ranks and earn a name for yourself… and, of course, in its turn, that should reflect well on us as well, shouldn't it? Besides," and now he lifts his eyes to look at something beyond me, "you don't have much to lose by doing this, do you? Your chosen family is already a part of our Famiglia."

My chosen _family._ Not servants, caretakers, or simply the people I live with... no, Don Antonio refers to them as my _family_. And it's funny, because no one's ever thought to do that before… and it's true too, of course. Every single word of it. No matter how most of us aren't even biologically related… we are still… _a family_.

Hah. And what a weird family we are: a pair of siblings, both of them Mafiosi, raising a cow kid and a runaway princess. A ragtag team of weirdos.

"I suppose so." I hum after a moment of silence. "What do you gain from this, then? Surely, you'll want some sort of compensation for your trouble...?"

Of course they do. It's in the sharp look Don Antonio gives me, the way Gaetano is watching our conversation with narrowed eyes.

"That's simple." The man tells me, a satisfied look in his eyes, "Find something you're good at – I don't particularly care if it's murder, or torture or petty theft – just find something that you're good at, something that you can _excel_ at, and make a name for yourself. We want you to become an asset to the Bovino Family." Not entirely unexpected, really. Actually, I had come here expecting nothing less. "Of course, if you succeed in your pursuits, you will be greatly rewarded. The Family's success means your success, after all."

My glass is empty and I watch the bottom of it mournfully for a moment before looking up again. Hand in hand with his previous statement also goes the opposite: me _failing_ to deliver the expected results will undoubtedly yield less than favourable consequences.

"Do I have to give you my answer now?"

"No, I suppose you don't." Don Antonio concedes after a moment. "How about this: I'll give you until your birthday to decide. I want an answer by then - a yes or a no, simple as that." Somehow, it's never that simple. Still, I agree and the room becomes silent once more. Don Antonio looks satisfied.

A few more moments tick by before the don announces that he wishes to have a word with Ottavia in private and suggests Gaetano give me a tour of the mansion in the meantime. He tells me to make myself at home, but as Gaetano shuts the door behind us – leaving Ottavia alone with her Boss – I really wish that I was still in that room with her, with Ottavia's comforting presence keeping an eye on me.

At the very least, I tell myself, I still have Lambo's grenades with me. Mafia territory or not, that's got to count for something.

"Ahh, that's a disappointment." Gaetano sneers at the closed door. "He never lets me stay when they talk about Ottavia's project." Folding his arms behind his head, apparently resigned to this fate, he turns towards me. "Guess I'm stuck babysitting you then."

And okay, that definitely rubs me the wrong way.

"No one's asking you to." I reply with a scowl of my own because I don't even _need_ a babysitter! "You're free to go if you want to."

"Believe me when I tell you that I'd _love_ to, but I'm supposed to keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want to let little Princess the Ripper loose in our home, you know?"

Little Princess _what now_? Oh no. Oh _hell_ no. Over my dead body.

"Don't call me that either."

"What, did I ruffle your feathers? It's not like it's inaccurate, right, _Princess_?" The sly grin on his lips grows to something much less pleasant. "Is it a female thing, or just a you thing? Your brother certainly isn't shy about his crimes. Tell me, your Highness, how many people have you killed already? There's really no need to be shy."

 _Is he serious_ , I ask myself and the answer is simply yes. Yes, he is - there's not a hint of humour in his eyes... he thinks I've _killed_ before. The realisation startles me because... is that... the general image people have of me? That of a crazy little psychopath, whose closet might or might not be filled to the brim with _literal_ skeletons? Clearly, getting rid of this Prince the Ripper's little sister image is not going to be as easy as I had hoped...

Still, Gaetano's inquiry is way out of line. Tactless. Plain rude, really. I have every right to call him out on it.

"Is this some kind of a joke to you, or do you always go around insulting people you've just met?" I tilt my head to look up at the Bovno heir. As an Accidian royal, icy condescending looks come to me as easily as breathing - and well, it's rather amusing to watch the target become undone so suddenly, startled by the look that doesn't _really_ have any business being of the face of a child. "For your information, I have _never_ killed anyone before. I am not my brother, and you'd better get that through your head soon if you want us to get along."

The look he gives me – a two raised eyebrows followed by a fake, docile smile, tells me that Gaetano doesn't believe a word of what I just said.

"I see, I apologise; you can't blame a guy for being curious though. Come on then, how about that tour of the mansion?"

Now that I'm left with no option but to trail after Gaetano Bovino and try to make small-talk, the mansion doesn't just seem big anymore – it seems enormous. Even after being warned and made well aware of my disapproval, the Bovino heir easily slips back into the habit of referring to me as Belphegor's little sister. It seems like with every step that we take, every word that leaves his mouth, I'm listening to the things _Bel_ has done and how something like that would give the Family a much needed boost up the social ladder. He's sure my talents could come in handy – and really – an opportunity like this is exactly what the Bovino have been waiting for! Whatever Ottavia is discussing in that office had better be over soon... because I'm not too sure for how much longer I'll be able to tolerate this guy. He's long since stopped pointing out rooms as we pass them, but we're finally stepping out into the garden now so I allow myself the feeble hope that maybe I'll manage to duck behind a rose bush or somethingand stay there until Ottavia comes to pick me up.

Only that Gaetano's voice once again breaks through my thoughts and crushes dreams. Yeah, that probably won't happen - if getting away from Gaetano had been that easy, I'd have done that already.

"- and sure, you're probably going to be one crazy bitch when you grow up, but I bet it'd give marriage a thrill, you know?"

Wait. Hold up. Rewind.

 _"Excuse me?"_ I whirl around without a warning, my eyes narrowed into an ice cold glare. My hands rest on my hips, but Gaetano doesn't look particularly intimidated.

"Hey, I'm hot stuff. The ladies like that – just wait a couple of years and I bet you'll be just the same." My lip curls up in disgust, eyes narrowed and not the least bit appreciative of what the Bovino heir is implying. And what the _fuck_ was that about marriage earlier? "Why are you glaring at me like that? I mean, the old man didn't really _say_ it, of course… but you know he's hoping we might get along."

"He's... you mean, he wants us to-"

"Oh come on, Princess! Isn't your brother supposed to be a certified genius? Who _wouldn't_ want that precious blood of yours running through their veins? The Bovino Family, mixed with a royal bloodline? It's a dream come true!"

I'm not sure when Gaetano took hold of my chin, or when he crouched down in front of me with that unpleasant smile on his thin lips, all that I know is that my face twists in disgust and I lose no time slapping his hand away from my face.

" _Don't_ touch me." I snarl.

 _One_ step, I swear, and he's going to find out just how dangerous Lambo's toys really are. I reach into my handbag, fingers wrapping themselves around a pink grenade and clutching it tightly. Just in case. A really tense moment passes, and then –

"Gaetano? Princess? What's going on?"

Ottavia's voice, cutting through the tenseness like a knife, fills me with relief. My posture relaxes slightly and I turn around to look at her - my chest suddenly feels lighter. Oh, I could kiss her!

"Nothing." I quickly say, eager to put some distance between myself and Gaetano, "Are we going home?"

* * *

 **A/N:** **I've been drawing Helena quite a bit lately and I decided to upload some of my drawings. You can find them on deviantart, my username's the same as the one I have here: MrsRegulusBlack123. Keep in mind that none of my drawings are actually really moments that occur in the story... it was just me thinking 'oh that would look cool!' and drawing it.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please leave a review!**


	24. Setting a plan in motion

There's one thing I'm absolutely certain of and it's this: I am not, _now or ever_ , going to join the Bovino Famiglia.

As I turn away from Gaetano Bovino, briskly following Ottavia out of the gardens, a plan is already setting itself into motion – forming itself inside my brain and filtering out my best options. No, it's probably not going to be easy, and I don't expect Don Antonio to be pleased with my decision… but if today's events are _any_ indication at all, this is not a Family I want to be a part of.

Don Antonio and his shrewd, underhanded politics I can put up with, but _Gaetano_ … that's an entirely different matter altogether.

Even as I get in the car, seating myself on the leather seat and automatically fastening my seatbelt, I can still feel his fingers on my skin – holding my chin in his long, slender finders, his grip way too tight and his face entirely too close to mine. Light grey eyes had bored into my blue ones… and for just a moment, I had felt entirely trapped.

It spooks me more than I am comfortable admitting.

 _The Bovino Family, mixed with a royal bloodline? It's a dream come true!_ Gaetano's voice mocks me, an unpleasant sound that sends shivers down my back.

 _Yeah,_ I grit my teeth, _and a dream is_ _exactly_ _what it's going to remain_. I know precisely what Gaetano wants of me – what his father is secretly hoping I'll agree to – and no, that's not a price I'm willing to pay. I am not going to become anyone's _trophy wife_ – much less that of a rude, pompous little jerk like Gaetano.

The very thought that anyone would even propose this as a real, valid course of action is… frankly… quite insulting. I'm not an object, or a reward to be gained. I am a _person_. And, really, that settles it: Gaetano had better stay away from me, because I sure as hell will be doing my best to stay away from him.

(Who even asks that kind of thing of a ten-year-old?)

So the Bovino Family is a no go… that leaves me with a couple of obstacles that I will have to overcome. I hum thoughtfully, running my fingers through my hair and absentmindedly catching hold of a golden lock. I twist it around my finger.

 _What to do…?_

"Helena?" Ottavia speaks up and I make a little noise in the back of my throat to indicate that I'm listening. "Whatever you choose to do, I'll stand with you."

The promise shines in her amber eyes – a look of determination and something _else_ that I don't quite know how to decipher right now. I watch Ottavia for a couple of moments and, deep inside of me, I _know_ what I have to do.

 _I'll stand with you,_ she says.

But at what cost? She must at least know what I'm considering, if she's offering this in the first place.

"Ahh, thank you. I'm still figuring it out though..." I don't have the heart to tell her about my half-formed plan yet… and since she really won't be one of the key components, I guess I can afford my own secrets for the time being.

~X~

When Mihail arrives at Princess Helena's doorstep on the 21st of September he feels more like an animated corpse than an actual, living human being.

There is exhaustion written over every inch of his body, and from the shagging shoulders that carry a dirty duffel bag, to the dark, prominent circles beneath his eyes… he's sure he looks just as terrible as he feels right now.

Alas, that's what reality looks like after two nights without any rest. He's never been fond of long, drawn-out missions away from base and now he remembers why; there's so much room for things to get needlessly complicated and he doesn't have the time or patience to deal with it. Having just spent the better part of 48 hours chasing his elusive target across the borders of no less than _four_ different countries hasn't been the highlight of his month, but at least he can say it's over now: as soon as he gets back to base, he's going to take a long, warm shower and sleep for 16 hours straight. No interruptions. No complications. Just him, his bed, and peaceful, sweet sleep.

The perfect opportunity to kick back and relax.

… But, before that, he needs to make just one last detour.

After all, he has a note to deliver.

Admittedly, Prince the Ripper's little sister is an interesting one. Strikingly similar to his young Commander, and yet the two of them are two very different people. Ever since the day he met her, that is something that has stood out to him.

Generally speaking, the specifics concerning Prince the Ripper's little sister are shrouded in mystery. Nobody knows who she is, or where she's hiding and – sure enough – should they come across her on the street, Mihail is certain that even Prince Belphegor's fellow Commanders would have a hard time connecting the girl to everything she's made out to be.

Because it doesn't suit her; that nickname.

Prince the Ripper's little sister is a title that doesn't do her justice. It doesn't say anything about her.

Yes, she is his Commander's sister, and yes, that is very obvious in a thousand of tiny, easy to miss little details and mannerisms – but does that define her? Does that make her who she is? No, it doesn't. _Prince the Ripper's little sister_ makes the world expect exactly that: a younger, female version of the Varia's Storm Guardian. A maniac with covered eyes and a wide, predatory grin.

It's laughable, really, because as Mihail sits here and watches her… he's pretty sure the girl isn't even a Storm to begin with.

She doesn't feel like someone who would enjoy their way of fighting, doesn't feel like someone who is continuously at the heart of the attack. Princess Helena, Mihail thinks, is more inclined to do her own thing.

It's funny really, because the world is looking for something they'll never find. They'll never find _Prince the Ripper's little sister_ , because there has only ever been Princess Helena on the playing board.

"So… you wouldn't happen to have my brother's phone number, would you?" Helena's voice cuts through his musings and he slowly looks up, his eyes settling on the young Princess. There's something different about her today, an air of seriousness that makes him wonder if something happened between his last visit and today. "There's something I'd like to talk to him about."

That's definitely new. Up until now, she's been content to follow her brother's instructions – unperturbed by his whims and games. He thought he'd made it clear though, that his Commander would be the one to contact _her_ when the time came.

He likes the little Princess, but that doesn't mean he's willing to risk his Commander's dissatisfaction over this.

"That wasn't a part of my orders." He simply says, "You know that."

Then again, this _is_ Accidian Royalty he's dealing with… and if there's anything he's learned from years of being under the command of one, it's that they always get what they want – by whatever means necessary.

It really shouldn't surprise him then, that Princess Helena gives him a smile he's all too familiar with.

"But... he didn't expressly forbid it, did he?"

It's the same kind of smile the Varia's Storm Guardian wears whenever he _knows_ his orders are going against something not _explicitly_ stated but definitely otherwise implied by the speaker. It's the kind of smile that makes Commander Squalo want to rip his hair out in frustration because in the Boss's absence, he's responsible for any trouble his junior assassin might get into.

It's the exact kind of smile Mihail Matei would rather not be on the receiving end of. Now or ever. But especially _now_ because exhaustion and mischievous, scheming royalty don't mix well.

"No, he didn't, but -"

"Then you've got nothing to worry about. You're not disobeying any orders."

"Are you done answering that note?" He nods at the sheet of paper beneath her hands and Princess Helena shakes her head.

"Almost." She hums. "You can have it in a moment."

Mihail sighs, head titling back to lean against the backrest. He's so tired, his eyelids feel heavy. What will it take for him to go home and get some rest?

"Look, I'm sorry. I can't give you my Commander's number; that's not negotiable. Can you finish that note? Please? I'm really tired."

For a moment, it looks like God has answered his prayers and Princess Helena is going to take pity on him. He actually hears some faint scratching – the sound of a pen making contact with paper. And then Prince Belphegor's little sister sighs mournfully.

"Well, I suppose that if you can't give me Bel's number… I'll just have to keep calling yours until you do."

Her voice is calm in that moment, her eyes sharp. He doesn't know if the words that leave her lips are a threat or a promise, but he knows she will carry it out – and what's there to stop her? – she _does_ have his phone number.

Mihail rues the day he decided the girl should be able to contact him if need be, just so that he won't arrive here and find an empty house.

"I'll turn off my phone." The Storm threatens as he lifts his gaze to glare at young Princess Helena. Instead of giving up though, she goes on smiling that infuriating smile.

"Well, I suppose I can't stop you… but… isn't that your work phone?" She tilts her head in mock curiosity, "Are you actually _allowed_ to make yourself unreachable for no reason at all?"

What was that thing he had said? About liking this kid? He takes it all back.

Princess Helena is a shrewd little demon.

She's pure _evil_.

When he makes his way into one of the Varia Castle's many living rooms that same evening, his buzzing phone clutched in a tight, slightly shaking grip, he's got half a mind to throw the device against a wall just so that it will stop. The other half of himself just wants to cry.

"You look like you're about to drop dead, Matei!" Squalo snaps in lieu of a greeting, but Mihail doesn't even bother with a reply.

He makes his way over to the blonde Storm Guardian sitting on the Victorian style canape, a remote control being held in his left hand as he carelessly flips through channels. He gives him a curious look when Mihail comes to a stop in front of him – holding out his ringing phone.

"She's been calling my phone every ten minutes for the last _six hours_. Please… just pick up."

~X~

There's really only one sure-fire way to garner Lambo's attention. It's a flawless technique; one that we – the members of his family – have slowly, painstakingly, perfected throughout the years.

And, okay, that might be a slight exaggeration on my part, but still, numbers don't lie and past experience has taught us that this particular strategy has had a 100% success rate. Pressing the green call button for what must be the 50th time today, I lean my body against the doorframe and call out to Ottavia's nephew.

The boy looks up and I give him a smile.

"Hey, Lambo, would you like to earn some snacks?"

~X~

Lambo taking care of my phone calls for me gives me some time to do my own thing. I wander around the house for a couple of moments, fix myself something to eat, and when I'm done with that I take a seat in a comfortable armchair and allow myself a couple of moments to pick up my book.

I turn to the page I had left off and take a bite of my toast. It's quite relaxing, really.

The book I'm reading is kind of like what I would have imagined Harry Potter to be like – only that it's not. It's about a magic school, and a young, orphaned boy who discovers he's a wizard – hell, it's even about a Dark Lord on a quest to to achieve immortality. It's the same skeleton, but dressed up differently. Different names, different year of publication... small details that just seem off.

It's like my old world, but it's wrong... well, maybe not so much _wrong_ as simply _different_.

Different: Like the people, the places, the names… the fact that Accidia never existed where I came from. The fact that -

"Nena!" Lambo suddenly catches my attention, my phone held against his ear, "It's for you."

"Hmm? Oh, okay, give me my phone."

The device is placed on my awaiting hand but the four-year-old cow child doesn't relinquish his hold on it quite yet – he stares at me instead, a rather adorable seriousness on his round face.

"When am I going to get my snacks?" He wants to know.

"Tomorrow. Two bags of lollipops, okay?" I hold up two fingers in order to emphasize this point and Lambo gives me a small nod. He seems happy with the arrangement, so I bring the phone up to my ear and make a shooing motion in Lambo's direction. He doesn't need to be told twice. "Hello, Mihail." I greet, "Did you make up your mind?"

The voice that answers my question most definitely does _not_ belong to Mihail.

"He sure did."

It belongs to a male, but that is where the similarities end. The person who's speaking to me is definitely younger than Mihail and his voice is lacking the clear exhaustion I'd distinguished in the assassin's voice earlier today. It's lighter, and it sounds almost... amused? Despite myself, I squeak rather comically – almost dropping my phone and scrambling to bring it back up to my ear.

Oh, God.

That's not Mihail. That is _not_ Mihail. Before I can freak out too badly, the stranger who is not Mihail takes charge and speaks again.

"So, _Helena_ ," he drawls, "care to tell me why my Officer looks like he's about to pass out due to exhaustion?"

 _Helena._

The way it's pronounced carries no question but it does seem oddly familiar. _Helena_. It's the accent, probably, lacking that distinctly Italian twist I've gotten so used to hearing these last couple of years. It's exactly this that prompts me to ask a question of my own.

"… Bel…?" Then, quickly deciding that I'm probably not going to get an answer to such a dumb inquiry if it really _is_ my brother, I clear my throat in order to give myself some time to try and think. "I didn't expect Mihail to just give you the phone, to be honest. But I guess that works out… there's something I want to talk to you about."

Bel makes a noise which I'm not all too sure how to interpret. Then, for a moment that seems to stretch on for longer than I had thought possible, he's silent. Just as I'm starting to get a little nervous – what if this was a terrible idea after all, or what if I just said the wrong thing? – my brother speaks up again.

"Ushishi~ sounds interesting. What is it?"

I release a breath I hadn't even known I was holding, and feeling a little more confident, a smile grows on my lips.

"Well, I don't think I should tell you the specifics over a phone call like this. Can you meet me somewhere?"

~X~

Truth be told, I do feel kind of guilty for keeping Mihail up last night. As I stand in front of a large isle filled with tons and tons of candy and sweet goodies, a very happy Lambo by my side, I decide to buy something for the aforementioned assassin – an apology for whenever he swings by again.

Last night went rather well I think, so I feel like some spoiling is in order.

"Nena." Lambo tugs at my arm. "I want those lollipops. Up there."

Raising my eyes to follow Lambo's pointing finger, I realise that… yeah, I can't reach that. It's right at the top.

"What's wrong with all of the lollipops down here?" I try, but Toro's kid is as stubborn as they come. He shakes his head and pouts, promptly informing me that the ones up there are grape-flavoured. Really… I should have seen this coming; Lambo loves anything grape-flavoured. "Alright, how about this – I'll put you on my shoulders and you can try to reach them like that. Okay?"

All in all, it could have gone much worse. There's only one bag of Lambo's favourite lollipops left and though he looks a bit sulky as he picks out another bag of candy, the smile is quickly back again as soon as I distract him by pointing out a weirdly shaped bottle of soda.

Lastly, I pick out some chocolates for Mihail.

"Can we go to the playground? Just for a bit?"

I hum in reply, taking out my phone to check the time before deciding that… you know what, we might as well. Toro and Ottavia won't be back for another hour at least and… who knows when I'll get that chance to do this again? I feel a little guilty thinking about it, so I push the thought out of my mind and direct a smile at Lambo.

"Sure. Just let me pay for these things, alright?"

"Okay!"

There are a couple of playgrounds close to where we live but the one Lambo's referring to is probably the one by the park. It's a ten-minute walk away from Ottavia's place and has a bunch of springy animals Lambo's always excited to play on. There's also no sandbox, which is a blessing because Lambo has a talent for getting his clothes and hair dirty and _really_ doesn't need any assistance in doing so. I ask him just to make sure but just as anticipated Lambo's preference goes out to the playground by the park.

I make him hold my hand as we leave the store, a lollipop in each of our mouths. It's a nice day.

"Hey Nena…" Lambo suddenly asks me, to which I hum in reply.

"Yeah?"

"We are… you're not… I mean, what are you?"

Well, isn't that a weird question?

"You know, that's a very rude thing to ask, Lambo. Buuuut since you _did_ want to know – well, I'm a human. I'm a girl. I'm also blonde. I'm -"

"Noooo! Nena! I mean – you're not… you're not – Zia said you weren't… Zia's not your _madre_ but…"

Oh… well, where did that come from? Surprised, I slow down a little bit, maintaining that pace until we eventually come to a complete stop. Lambo's curious green eyes look up at me, searching, and I know I can't lie to him.

"Hmm… well, that's true." I carefully admit. She's _not_ my mother, after all. "Your auntie's my guardian; she takes care of me because my parents aren't here to do that."

I wonder if Lambo will understand what I mean by that, but the way he simply looks at me for a long moment, his tiny grip on my hand tightening, makes me think he knows _exactly_ what I'm talking about. After all… Lambo isn't Toro's biological son. We took him in because his parents abandoned him. Or died. Even now, we're not sure.

"So… like dad does for me?" He asks, and I nod.

"Yeah, like that."

Lambo huddles a little bit closer to my leg and I let go of his hand to wrap my arm around his shoulder and give it an encouraging rub. Lambo doesn't talk about his real parentage often – actually… I don't think I've ever heard him talk about it before.

Why bring it up with me though? Maybe, somewhere in his four-year-old heart, he feels like I'd understand – even a bit. This was supposed to be a fun outing though… how come it took such a turn?

"Did you know your parents?"

Does having met two people I never actually had a real conversation with count as knowing them? Maybe it does. I wonder how much Lambo should know about this anyway – even if I'm giving him a very much abridged version of events… those first three years hadn't exactly been the best of my life.

"My mother died when I was really young, but… I did know my father." I hesitate for a moment before adding another titbit of information. "I used to have two brothers as well."

"Brothers?"

"Yes, twins."

"Nena? What am I to you?"

Lambo, huh? There's really only one answer that comes to mind…

"Hmm… well, I guess you're kind of like a little brother to me." I admit, to which Lambo responds with a pensive look.

"Oh…" He hesitates for a moment before - "Do you have any other little brothers?"

"Nope," I smile, "you're the first."

That seems to satisfy him and Lambo's quickly returning my smile with one of his own. I pat him on the back and tell the kid to go play a little. That's all the encouragement he needs.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor Mihail... he probably rues the day he ever became acquainted with Accidian royalty.**

 **As for the Mammon question, since slightly more of you went for female, that's what I'm going to be working with as well! Thank you for taking the time to answer my question :)**

 **So what did you think of this chapter? Leave a review and let me know.**


	25. Extra chapter: The past

**Chapter 25 isn't ready yet so I've decided to upload this chapter while I work on it instead. You'll probably notice that I've changed the Queen's name to Rosalie, that's because it sounds a bit more European.**

 **That said, enjoy!**

* * *

Long before Princess Helena, there had been Queen Rosalie.

~X~

The east side balcony – the one that overlooked the royal gardens and granted a beautiful view of the surrounding forest to boot – had always been Queen Rosalie's favourite out of the six. When Ottavia found her that morning, she was sitting beneath a large white, parasol – a cup of rose tea delicately held in her hands as she pensively ran her fingers over the pages of a book she wasn't really reading.

Ottavia approached her, carefully opened the glass door and slipped outside.

" _The cook made a new batch of cookies."_ The Mafioso spoke, announcing her presence _"Would you want some?"_

A head of long golden hair turned slightly to the side, revealing almond shaped eyes and a perky nose. The Queen smiled.

" _Oh, chocolate chip, are they? You know I can never say no to that."_

Placing the tray down on the table next to Queen Rosalie, Ottavia watched her reach out for them – slender fingers hesitating for only a moment before picking out just the cookie she wanted to start with. Rosalie took her first bite and seemed satisfied enough, so Ottavia used this opportunity to take a few more steps towards the balustrade, coming to a stop when her fingers curled around it. She peeked down over it and surveyed the Royal Gardens, where the twin Princes seemed to be doing… something or the other…

" _Monsieur Émile decided to take them out for the day since the weather's so nice. I suppose he's teaching them the names of different flowers, or plants…"_

As if on cue, the boys' new tutor came into vision, leaning over the kids' shoulders to see what they were up to. Prince Rasiel told him something Ottavia couldn't hear at this distance and, whatever the tutor's reply was, both Princes seemed to be interested enough not to kick up a fuss.

Émile was an older man with thin, somewhat greying hair. He had been hired to teach the boys French about a month ago and judging by the fact that he hadn't handed in his resignation slip yet, things seemed to be going remarkably well for him.

" _The Princes seem to have taken a liking to Monsieur Émile."_ Ottavia observed.

" _Oh yes, he's certainly patient. I reckon he'll stay if he reaches the two-month mark. Most do, anyway."_ Taking another sip from her rose tea, Queen Rosalie suddenly seemed to remember something else. _"Has Inge calmed down yet?"_

" _Inge?"_ Searching for a face to go with the name, Ottavia slowly nodded, _"You mean the new nanny? More or less. Orgelt made her a cup of tea, which was awfully kind of him… I don't think she has what it takes though."_

Taking care of the Royal Princes was not a job for the faint-hearted – it needed character, and a certain amount of discipline. Not many could pull it off, and even less were willing to stay after being exposed to one or two of the boys' tantrums. There was a reason why the job paid so well – and it certainly wasn't because the King was a generous man.

" _Yes… you're quite right. I suppose we can scratch that one off the list as well, then…"_ The Queen sighed, bringing up a manicured hand and tenderly massaging her temple _"What on Earth am I going to do with these boys?"_

As a general rule, Queen Rosalie was the parent mostly in charge of the children. She was the one who looked at, screened and hired people to take care of them. It didn't matter whether they be tutors, maids or nannies, nothing got to her sons before she had evaluated it with a suspicious, critical eye.

(Which was a good thing, of course, because the royal family had its fair share of enemies and assassination attempts were not as uncommon as any of them would have liked them to be).

At the end of the day, the King still had the final say about who entered and left the castle, but that didn't tend to be a problem. The Queen was a smart woman – she knew how to get her way.

" _Should I send her home?"_ Ottavia questioned.

" _Yes, please do. And call in the next one too, would you? One of the older ones this time."_ She added pensively, _"They seem to handle the situation better."_

With a nod, Ottavia turned to face her Queen.

" _I'll do that."_ She agreed, _"Perhaps Ebba Dahl would be a good choice, since Prince Belphegor seemed to be partial to her appointment when she was here to meet him and his brother?"_

" _Hmm, yes. Yes, I suppose so. Call her up and let her know she's expected here on Monday."_

(Ebba Dahl only lasted for a week and some change. She wasn't bad at getting the twins to bed on time and was remarkably good at making them follow their day-to-day schedule. Unfortunately, she fell out of favour rather abruptly when she accidentally got the twins mixed up and referred to Prince Belphegor as Prince Rasiel instead).

~X~

Duchess Rosalie Marie Laurvigen was nineteen years old when she got married to Crown Prince Azriel of Accidia.

The pictures of their wedding show a golden-haired girl standing at her husband's side. Dressed up in white, her wedding dress was long sleeved – her arms covered by flower-patterned lace. That same white hugged the Queen's slim waist, becoming wider and wider the further down it went until it pooled around her rather beautifully, painting a breath-taking picture for all to see. She was a trophy wife, draped over King Azriel's arm with a chaste smile on her rosy lips and a bouquet of white flowers in her hand.

Prompted not by love but by a precarious situation, their marriage was very clearly a political one. The Queen didn't love her husband, and the only thing the King ever loved was power. They were not lovers, but allies, kept together by a mutually beneficial situation.

By the time she was 20, Queen Roaslie was the mother of two.

~X~

" _You know… sometimes I really hate this miserable country."_

The dark October sky stretched above them, stars twinkling faintly as the Queen stood on the edge of her balcony. She was dressed in a long white nightgown, a light jacket thrown over her shoulders to ward off the cold.

Ottavia had known Queen Rosalie for years now but moments like these didn't occur often. A soft hum replied the Queen's statement, but Rosalie didn't mind Ottavia's silence. She wasn't quite done yet anyway.

" _It's rotten to the core, really. With its rules, and its people… it's just so… so old-fashioned."_ She let out a breath, " _I mean, do I really want to bring another child into this world? For what? Look at Belphegor and Rasiel – all they've ever known is these castle walls."_

" _Your sons are destined to rule, my Queen."_

" _Ah, yes. That's what everyone always says, isn't it?"_ Rosalie spat bitterly, _"Destined to rule, my Queen, those boys are destined to rule. Like it's something to be proud of; both of them are destined for_ so much _, but only one of them will ever achieve those things, isn't that right? They're_ constantly _being pitted against each other! Constantly fighting! I haven't seen my boys smile at each other in months!_ Months _, Ottavia!"_

She turned around at this, bright blue eyes burning with something dangerous, and her maid nodded in acknowledgement.

" _I know."_

 _"It's just... I'm scared."_ The Queen whispered, voice breaking. She brought her hands up and buried her face in them. _"They're the last ones - there's no more_ _Ehrensvärds_ _left. And yet they used to be so plentiful - they all got each other, didn't they? Jealous relatives gunning for the throne."_ She let out a hitched laugh, though it sounded more like a pitiful, wounded sob to Ottavia. " _It's basic history, we learn about it in_ school. _I don't want that happening to my sons, Ottavia. I really, really don't."_

~X~

(If there was ever one good thing about the Queen's untimely death, it's that at least she didn't live long enough to see her fears be turned into reality)

When Ottavia had met Rosalie for the first time, the latter hadn't been a Queen yet. She had been the Duchess of a neighbouring country, a young lady being raised by her elderly father. Some illicit dealings on their side of the family had resulted in a spot of bother with the local underground organisations and - almost by complete accident - Ottavia's adoptive father had been the one to help them out.

It's difficult to define their relationship now; looking back, there never really was a word for it. Friends would be too strong; simple acquaintances too weak. Whatever it was, it made them stick together like glue. They were what they were, strangely connected through something invisible, something they couldn't name - and when Rosalie held her hands in a death grip one night, big blue eyes boring into her brown ones - a promise was made.

 _"I know it's selfish of me to ask... but will you do me a favour? I_ _f anything ever happens to me - no, hear me out - if anything happens to me... if I ever become unable to look after them - will you take care of my children for me?"_

By the time the possibility of escape was in the horizon, the twin Princes were a lost cause. One of them was dead, and Ottavia didn't want the other one anywhere near her. She did remember Rosalie's words though - in those last few moments - and as she gathered a crying three-year-old into her arms, she promised that at least this one... she would protect.


	26. Princely musings and a meeting

Unlike Squalo, who loathes them with the entirety of his being, Prince Belphegor loves surprises.

He loves being the surprise, of course, loves keeping his opponents on their toes – letting them believe what he wants them to for his own, sadistic amusement… but he loves the thrill of being caught unaware even more.

It doesn't happen often. After all, Prince Belphegor is a genius and unpredictable elements like the ones he loves so much are few and far between. The Varia's members are one thing, but generally speaking, there aren't a lot of people who can match his intellect and keep up with his erratic, fast paced thinking. The only one who truly could, in all of his years, achieve such a feat is now six feet under. Bel put him there and he doesn't regret a thing.

Helena, of course, is a special case. Always has been, if Bel's being honest. Strangely perceptive for someone that young – intelligent in a way that isn't simply smart. Helena's not a genius like he is… but there's something about her that makes her _different_.

And as for the incident with Mihail? Well, he certainly hadn't expected her to try and contact him against his (semi-implied) orders, but in the end it's her amusing antics which prompt him to pick up the phone and agree to meet her.

You see… peasants are dull and unworthy creatures, but – as expected – royalty is different. Helena is a Princess like he is a Prince, and unlike Rasiel, who had gone and planted his nasty little roots where they had no place being – becoming an annoying thorn in his side, Helena amuses him. He likes her enough not to be too bothered by the fact she broke his rules, more intrigued by the sudden appearance of this Helena he hasn't experienced yet. He lets himself relish that fact because last time he was pleasantly surprised like this, Boss had still been around and Bel had been but a child.

Xanxus, proud and powerful and showing all the true bearings of a King had caught Belphegor's attention almost as soon as they had met. He had known in that moment that the boss of the Varia was a real king – perhaps not by birthright, but certainly in every other sense of the word.

Boss wasn't a king like Belphegor's father had been. He wasn't hiding behind the power and authority his title gave him only to be turned into prey the moment a real predator stepped into the room– no, Xanxus was a mighty lion, King of the unruly jungle.

And really, what better person for a Prince to bow to than a true King like that?

Boss had been unpredictable, and Bel had loved it. And now Helena's back and she's still proving to be unpredictable! The Prince really couldn't have asked for anything more amusing to fill his time with.

"You seem happy…" Mammon calmly observes, and Bel doesn't have to be able to see her eyes in order to know that they are on him. Everybody's gaze is turned in his direction and it's this fact that makes him grin like the Cheshire Cat.

After all, Helena is somewhat of a myth within the Varia… perhaps even more so than outside of it.

While there's no shortage of interest in Prince the Ripper's little sister inside of the Mafia, nobody's quite as inventive or amusing in their theories as the Varia's own members. They really go the extra mile, if you know what he means. At least half of their numbers are convinced the little Princess died along with the rest of their family – her body buried in the Royal Gardens or otherwise disposed of while nobody was looking. The rest of the Varia's conspiracy theorists are of the opinion that she did survive, though their thoughts and reasoning get more and more illogical the deeper he digs.

One of the theories he's heard involve Helena snapping, picking up a dagger and helping him murder their family… and while that line of thought is undoubtedly amusing, he sometimes thinks people forget that his sister had been three years old at the time – more likely to trip over her own feet than actually take aim and land a lethal hit on anybody.

Besides… he's pretty sure that even now, almost at the age of 10, Helena's never had blood stain her hands. Not hers nor anybody else's.

Still, the myth of Prince the Ripper's little sister – distasteful as that name is – has some advantages… other than being a source of entertainment on slow days for himself, it also keeps Helena effectively hidden. Two birds with one stone. Simple as that.

"Mammon? The Prince needs you to take over his mission this Friday."

"Hmm… fine." The Mist Guardian concedes with a nod, "But expect to be charged, I don't work for free."

Bel is happy to leave it at that, attention already returning to the TV in front of him, but Squalo is of a different opinion and has never been one to keep his mouth shut anyway.

"Okay. Hold on just a second." He says, a frown on his face. "You're supposed to run this shit by me, remember?"

The Varia's swordsman irately taps his fingers against the fireplace's mantle shelf. There's a pointed look of annoyance in his eyes, one that he often directs at his junior assassin, and - oh - Bel is enjoying this _so much more_ than he thought he would.

"Since when do you care about who does what assignment? It doesn't matter as long as it gets done, right?" He shrugs, deliberately avoiding the point. "The Prince will have the paperwork ready sometime tomorrow, so you can stop the hissy fit."

Squalo growls.

"That's not the problem, Bel! You know that. If you go out there and meet that kid, I want a full report on it. I want to know what she looked like, I want to know what she said, I want to know what she was wearing, _I want to know how many fucking times she blinked_! The Bovino are thinking of recruiting her and I'm not taking any chances."

"That's right." Levi speaks up then, apparently struck by an idea. "What if they decide to use her as bait? What if she…" He makes a gesture that vaguely resembles a stabbing motion. "You know."

Bel turns around to face Levi, not appreciating the insinuation.

"Then she'd be an idiot – like you. Besides, do you think the Prince is incapable of taking on a 9-year-old, Levi?"

Before Levi can retort (or Bel can take out his knives and skewer the peasant), Squalo intervenes.

"VOOOI! Don't even think of it! Levi, if you have nothing useful to add to the conversation keep your mouth shut! The Bovino won't attack anybody – they're too scared of retaliation. And that's not the point anyway!"

"Yeah," Lussuria thoughtfully agrees, "That doesn't mean we shouldn't keep an eye on them anyhow. If… Princess Helena is anything like you, Bel… I'm sure we don't want to have to deal with that without any warning whatsoever. I'm sure you understand..."

"Right. See, that's what I'm talking about." Squalo nods, "Nobody that got _you_ to spare them is a normal human being. If you go out to meet her, I want a report on my desk within the next 24 hours. And that's final."

~X~

Belphegor remembers Helena's maid more clearly than most. He doesn't remember much _about_ her, admittedly, but he does remember her eyes – sharp and focused, and just the right amount of daring. Ottavia Bovino had been a talker, he recalls, and not a fighter.

 _("You can kill me, of course, but… then you'll never get away. That's not what you want now, is it?")_

 _("I can get you out of here, Prince Belphegor. You need me.")_

A talker, indeed. Those words, uttered by a woman he had never even considered before that day, have left an impression on him. She's another one that surprised him.

His sister's nanny, and his mother's personal maid before that.

 _("How?" He had asked her suspiciously and her lips had twisted upwards in response, her words becoming a little bit bolder._

" _I know some people… tell me, your highness, you enjoy killing, don't you?")_

That was the first time Prince Belphegor was ever told about the Varia; the first time he ever considered leaving behind everything he had ever known in favour of something new and exciting. A world which wasn't filled with things he hated. He'd seen his chance and grabbed it.

After all, he didn't _have_ to stay in Accidia, he didn't _have_ to sit down and wait until the guards found him and took him away to wherever they took child murderers; he could leave.

Prince Belphegor had liked what Ottavia had had to offer, so he had let her live.

She hadn't left immediately though, he remembers, Helena's maid had lingered – hesitant for a moment, before –

 _("Where is… your sister?")_

And he could hear the pause in her words – see the dread in her dark brown eyes. She had been expecting a corpse, not a mostly unharmed child.

But, really, hadn't they all?

When he had turned away from Rasiel that day, only to find Helena standing there, her pale face twisted into an expression of fear and horror, he hadn't thought about sparing her. He hadn't thought of anything else other than the fact that he hated this place, and that killing Rasiel and those maids had been so much _fun_.

Surely, killing his little sister would be just as entertaining!

Rasiel had cried when Belphegor had killed him– he had cried for the first time in years and Bel had taunted him like he knew Rasiel would've done had their places been reversed. _Princes don't cry,_ he had said, because everybody knew that. And that is why, when he was the one to make his brother cry like that, Belphegor only felt satisfaction at finally proving what he had always known: that _Rasiel_ was the lesser of the two. That _he_ was the real Prince.

Not _a_ Prince – but _the_ Prince.

But then Helena was the one crying, and it just didn't feel the same as it had with Rasiel. It wasn't satisfying. It was… kind of underwhelming, really – like a comedown. A wakeup call.

Her blue eyes were looking up at him, lips moving silently to form the word 'please' over and over again and… and… he just didn't feel like killing her anymore. He knew, in that moment, that digging that knife into her throat would offer him no satisfaction. He wasn't angry at her – he didn't hate her like he did the others.

Unbidden, a memory from long ago flits through his mind – his sister's presence next to his, leaning against him as he stubbornly wiped at his tears.

He didn't _want_ to kill her, so he didn't.

And then he had left Accidia and he hadn't looked back or seriously thought about Helena until after the coup, when Iemitsu Sawada, that infuriating commoner, had had the unmitigated gall to shove that photo into his hands and threaten _his_ little sister.

And he had retaliated with a threat of his own, hadn't he?

 _("What makes you think the Prince won't kill her himself, before you can get to her?")_

Because no matter how he simply didn't care for killing her, how the thought of impaling her with one of his knives didn't make him feel anything – good _or_ bad – if she had to go, it would at least be by his own hand.

Because royalty, _his little sister,_ deserves no less.

~X~

The first thing Prince Belphegor notices about Helena, is that she isn't wearing a crown.

She stands there amidst the crowd – her eyes uncovered – and blends in seamlessly. There's a small braid in her hair, coming from behind her right ear and reaching her shoulder as the rest of her hair pools around it – a strange style, maybe, but Belphegor supposes that it suits fine her all the same. Dressed in a lilac summer dress and white sandals, she doesn't look very much like a Princess at the moment. Even so, the remnants of her upbringing are still clear.

The way she tilts her chin, her faux-relaxed stature as she tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear; clearly, Helena hasn't forgotten _who_ she is. She's a Princess, and it shows in all the details a Prince like him knows not to miss. It doesn't matter that they haven't met in years – Bel recognises her at once.

Sitting at the edge of the tall, round fountain, Helena hasn't noticed him yet. There's a bag in her hands which she clutches just a tad too closely to herself for there to be nothing of interest inside. A weapon of some kind, maybe? He imagines it would be something small – a knife (but then again that might not be her style), or a firearm perhaps. The Bovino are known for their production of weapons, so he wouldn't be all that surprised if his sister had been able to acquire one.

Obviously, she isn't putting any blind faith in him. He likes that – it means that his sister knows caution, that she isn't some trusting idiot without any self-preservation skills to speak of. It's not like he left his knives at home either; he's Prince the Ripper, and in the Mafia, only soon-to-be dead guys wander the streets unarmed.

Making his way through the crowd, Bel keeps his eyes on Helena. She doesn't notice him until he's halfway across the square and when she does, he has her undivided attention. Even without wearing his Varia uniform, recognising him isn't difficult – his hair, his crown – that's all anybody looking for him needs to see in order to _know_.

Helena doesn't get up and they don't actually exchange a word until he's seated next to her, his back turned to the grand castle of Piazza Castello. It's a nice, sunny day and a lot of people are out. The irony isn't lost on Bel – how they meet in front of a castle – foreign royalty that disappeared years ago.

Tilting his head a little, Bel snickers.

" _Seven years later and you're_ still _the shortest person I know."_

A lie, obviously, because the shortest person he knows would be Mammon, who's literally the size of a two-year-old… but even so, it's all worth it to see the blatantly indignant look Helena gives him. She looks rather like an annoyed little bird with ruffled feathers. The mental image makes him smirk.

" _Wow, thanks."_ Amusingly enough, her reply is dry – almost deadpanned as she turns her head to face him. Then, a familiar little grin spreads onto her lips. _"Years of etiquette training went down the drain, I see. Wasted, just like that."_

" _Ushishi~ speak for yourself, little sister! Aren't you supposed to curtsy when in the presence of a Prince?"_

" _Am I? I never knew you cared about formalities like that."_

He doesn't, truthfully. It's time-consuming, inconvenient, and – frankly – quite pointless as well. They're not even in Accidia, so why expend the extra effort?

Both of them are silent for a moment but Bel's not overly fond of sitting around idly, so it isn't long before he's speaking up again in order to bring up the matter at hand: his sister's phone call. Because that is why they're here in the first place, isn't it?

" _So… you wanted to talk to me about something?"_

" _I did, yes."_ She admits. _"Well… truth be told, I'm not_ sure _if you can help me – but I figured… what the hell. It's worth a try, right?"_

Bel makes a contemplative sound, leaning back and looking up at the sky. When he speaks up again he's still acutely aware of his surroundings – aware of Helena's eyes on him.

" _This wouldn't have anything to do with those rumours going around about you joining the Bovino Famiglia, would it? Do you want the Prince to kill someone for you? I'll give you a discount, since you're my sister."_

" _What?_ No! _"_ She hisses, _"It's nothing that drastic."_

Snickering, Belphegor admits that he was only half joking: as a member of the Vongola Famiglia he isn't actually allowed to go around inciting Family wars on a whim. Still, he supposes there are ways around that - his line of work is assassination, he knows how to kill a man without drawing attention to himself. He wouldn't be Varia Quality otherwise.

The story his sister tells him within the next fifteen minutes is an interesting one... so the Bovino have finally made the first move, and in a show of phenomenally bad luck and planning, the peasants screwed it up so badly his sister wants to be nowhere near them. Bel has never met Gaetano Bovino before, but his name is one he carefully files away for future reference.

" _He's older than you, you know. What a creep_." Helena huffs, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the edge of the fountain. " _Yeah, see? He was so convinced too! Like… like I was actually going to accept that deal after he told me what he did…_ you're going to be one crazy bitch when you grow up, but I bet it'll give marriage a thrill… _! The nerve! I should have just punched him in the face when I had the chance."_

Probably, Bel thinks. Or she could have gone for the more permanent solution and simply killed him then and there - it would certainly have been deserved.

" _Well, either way, like I already said – I don't want anything to do with Gaetano or his Famiglia…"_ She crosses her arms at this, a frown marring her features. " _Which is the problematic thing, because – in a way – I'm already neck deep in it. You know how I live with Ottavia, right? She used to work at the castle – Mother's personal maid?"_ Bel nods and, finally, he thinks he knows where this whole thing might be heading, _"Yeah, well, she's one of them. She wouldn't make me join the Family, and I don't think the rest of her family would either, but... m_ y _situation's a disadvantage for everyone involved."_

It's difficult to refute that; surrounded as she is by members of the Bovino Family, twisting her arm and forcing her to join would be easy. Laughably so.

" _You need a place to stay."_ Bel guesses and though she hadn't mentioned it yet, had been skirting around the subject ever since she started talking, he knows he's not wrong about his assumption.

" _Yeah, I do."_ Helena admits. _"I've got a plan – well, more of an idea, really. I'm just wondering if it's possible."_

Interesting.

She doesn't ask him if he's willing to help her out, doesn't ask him if he will. Most likely that's because she can't afford to. But… she's always been his favourite family member, hasn't she? He supposes that that has its benefits. Besides… he's rather curious to find out what she's thinking.

" _Hmm, is that so?"_ Prince Belphegor grins _, "Well, what did you have in mind?"_

* * *

 **A/N: Kind of a chaotic chapter, but it's finally here. Yes, Bel's sort of twisted but that's old news anyway. I was laughing by myself like an idiot while writing Squalo's "if you meet her I want a report on my desk" speech, because Bel's a little shit and you know he at least _considered_ handing in a blank report on which he only wrote down how many times Helena had blinked during their meeting.**

 **On another note, we finally got a look at Bel and Helena's first meeting! What did you think of it? Let me know by leaving a review!**


	27. The solution

" _You know… right after meeting Gaetano Bovino… the thought of running away crossed my mind._

 _It was a knee jerk reaction... a fight or flight response, and it didn't really last for much longer than a couple of seconds. Anyway, it happened - no use bringing that up again. The point of the matter is that it set me thinking; … even if I were to stage an escape somehow – why set the bar so low? See... I_ could _run away if I really wanted to, but then what? Gaetano's not the only one out there, and no matter what, at the end of the day I'm still your sister – though I've remained_ undiscovered _this far, I have no way of knowing when the tables might turn on me._

 _So... two options, right? Fight or flight._

 _I could go home - that would count as escaping, wouldn't it? But then again Accidia hasn't been my home in... well, a long time._ _I like Italy, and I want to stay here - but I want to do it on my own terms. So if that means I'll have to get involved with Mafia politics, then so be it. My ties and alliances are still pretty flux, but Don Bovino was pressured to get me on his side... so I can only assume that there's others out there. Ones that could offer me a better deal."_

Elbows resting on my knees, I turn my head in order to face my brother. Blonde hair covers my eyes for a moment and I quickly push it out of the way.

Bel doesn't make an effort to confirm or deny my words, so I go on.

" _So we've established that_ fight _it is. Which brings me to my next point; I called you here for a reason. You're my brother, Bel, a prince of Accidia... but there's much more to it than that, right?"_ A grin slowly slips onto my lips, _"After all, y_ _ou're Varia Quality... and that's something you_ became _. It's proof that you're one of the best. You're so much more than just a Prince now, you know?"_

Before I can stop him, Bel's fingers are on my cheek, pinching hard.

 _"Owww..."_

 _"Ushishi~ not that that I disagree with any of that, but flattery won't get you anywhere, little sister!"_ Even as the words leave his mouth, an amused grin playing on his lips, I know that that's a lie. With Belphegor, flattery will get you everywhere. This point is proven when he lets go off my cheek a moment later, leaning back and telling me to get to the point.

He's interested, amiable, and that's exactly what I wanted in the first place.

 _"It's simple, really. I want to be in charge of my own life, and I want to be able to make my own choices and decisions - royalty deserves that much, right?_ _I want to become stronger."_ I tell him, _"And I'd like you to help me."_

…

I hadn't really realised how late it was before this moment – how the street lamps all around us have turned on, and how the square suddenly seems a lot less crowded than it was some time ago… but sure enough, the sun is setting and the sky has exploded into a beautiful mixture of oranges, blues and reds. A couple of lonesome clouds are gaining a rather greyish tint and a peek at my phone informs me that it is nearly six.

It takes Bel a while to react to my request, but finally he lets out a hum.

 _"Are you sure about this?"_ He asks. Illuminated by the pale yellow light of a nearby streetlamp, everything about this exchange suddenly seems a little more sinister. It's as if Bel is telling me something without using any words - a warning that this won't be summer camp. It won't be easy.

I don't let myself hesitate.

 _"I am. I'm sure."_

" _Well then, it's fine by me,"_ He shrugs, _"Just remember though. The Varia has standards… you better make sure you can keep up."_

" _I'll be sure not to waste your time. Don't worry."_

" _Ushishi~ good! Now, there's something else I've been wondering about... just give me an honest answer, alright? Did you bring someone with you today?"_

Even with his eyes obscured from vision, I can still feel the piercing gaze directed at me.

I slowly shake my head and tell him the truth. I tell him that, no, I came here by myself. As another moment passes and Bel offers no response to that, I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, a cool sort of shiver rushing through me. Nerves. Anticipation. surely Bel wouldn't ask this question if he didn't have a reason to, right?

" _What's going on?"_ I urge, but Bel simply smiles (a tad _too_ widely for my liking) and shakes his head. It… isn't a sincere smile.

" _Nothing, just asking."_

Is it deliberate?

No matter. He's standing up now, taking a moment to stretch his arms before giving his surroundings a lazy glance. He tells me that if that's all I wanted to talk about he's going to head back. He pauses then, as if suddenly remembering something important.

" _Pass me your phone, would you?"_

When I get it back a new contact has been added to my list: _Bel_.

(There's a little crown emoji next to it and though amused huff leaves my lips, I manage not to roll my eyes... too obviously).

~X~

Contrary to what he tells Helena, Bel doesn't head back. He watches her retreating back for a couple of moments, making sure his sister is both out of sight and out of earshot before he allows the grin to slip off his lips.

Someone's been watching them and it's been going on for some time now – Bel knows what that means; there's a peasant close by that doesn't know what's best for them. Thoughtfully, Bel puts his hand inside his pocket, fingertips brushing against a cool blade.

…

There's still some time left before he's expected back at the castle.

~X~

Toro is waiting for me when I get home that evening, sitting outside with a can of beer next to him. He looks up as soon as he hears me approach and I flash him a quick smile, checking my bag for the house keys.

"Hey Toro. What are you doing out here?"

I tug my keys out by their keychain, frowning a little when they get stuck. Carefully dislodging them from the pin of Lambo's toy grenade, I look up again. Toro is now standing. He's come a bit closer and there's a rare look of seriousness in his eyes – one that I know won't be dismissed that easily.

It's this that prompts me to lower my keys, pausing as I watch him expectantly.

"I was waiting for you to get back," Ottavia's brother admits, "See… I wanted to have a word with you."

"Oh, sure" I hum, "What is it?"

Toro doesn't beat around the bush – he doesn't try to distract me from his main concern; instead he cuts straight to the chase.

"You're going to turn down the Don's proposition, aren't you? About joining the Family."

"Are you going to try and stop me?"

Lambo's father shakes his head at that. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his relaxed posture seeming to lull me into a sense of ease – that's the Toro I know. The one I'm used to.

"No." He simply says. "No, actually… I think you're doing the right thing. You shouldn't take decisions like this lightly. Famiglia is for life, as you know; you can't simply back out of it once you're in. Myself, Ottavia and Lambo, we were born into it, so it's different for us – but you've got a _choice_." He lets out a slow, deliberate breath. "I can't tell you what to do," He goes on, "but whatever path you choose, make sure it's a good one."

"I'll do my best." I promise.

"Good!" Toro grins, reaching out to ruffle my hair. He watches me try to straighten it out fondly, but suddenly his gaze grows sombre once more. "… There's actually... one more thing I wanted to talk to you about… Lambo was talking to me last night – well, never mind _that_ – the point is… he mentioned some things and… I'm just wondering, have you – have you been in contact with your brother lately?"

How does he –

Ah.

"Lambo told you about the phone call, didn't he?"

"He did."

"To be fair, I didn't expect Bel to be the one to pick up. I was calling Mihail."

I realise a second too late that that might not have been the best way to reassure a worried parent. Suddenly, Toro looks like he wants to genuinely be sick so I quickly start talking again, reassuring him that I didn't tell Bel anything about Lambo and that – in all honesty – my brother has probably already forgotten all about him by now anyway.

That seems to do the trick, if barely, and Toro manages to force a nod.

"How about we go inside?" I urge, "I want to talk to you and Ottavia. About this, and other stuff… anyway, I'll just explain this whole thing inside, alright?"

It's nearly eight thirty by the time we gather in the living room, Ottavia's TV series muted and a mug of hot milk held between Toro's hands. He doesn't look much better now than he did outside and Ottavia worriedly places her hand on his shoulder, asking him if he's feeling sick. Toro dismisses it and I lower myself into the familiar armchair to the siblings' left. Lambo is asleep, so now's the moment. It's nearly twenty minutes later, when my brief explanation is over with, that my guardian purses her lips, a dismaying expression written across her face.

Ottavia is, predictably, also the first one to speak up.

"Why the _Varia_?" She wants to know.

(Why _Belphegor?_ )

There's something akin to bewilderment (or maybe desperation) in Ottavia's voice and it isn't too hard to figure out what she's thinking about. It's in the way her eyes glaze over, the way her knuckles turn white as she grasps the hem of her dark blue skrit. There's one memory in particular that we share of Bel, and it isn't a fun one. I explain don't really _want_ to leave her, and of course I'm scared, but in the end the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages… assuming I don't get myself killed, being on Bel's side is... a huge plus.

It offers me protection until I can take care of myself, and a chance to boost myself up to a higher level. If I'm planning on staying involved with the Mafia – and I know that I am because that's where my family is – then I need to learn how to stay afloat by myself.

No more mooching off Ottavia.

No more relying on whatever luck has in store for me.

And, well, if there was ever such a thing as a Mafia CV, what's better to have on there than past experience with the Varia?

Grudgingly, Ottavia has to agree with me. It's not entirely unheard of, she admits - getting in is easier for long-time allies and such, but theoretically… and with the right connections... it's not _impossible_. The Varia recruits from everywhere, after all - they're infamous for that. They don't care about background or gender or ethnicity or anything... if you've got what it takes, it's possible.

"And Prince Belphegor agreed to that?"

"He said he'd give me a chance. Not in as many words, admittedly, but I did get his phone number…"

"Well, I guess it would be an excellent thing to boast about, if nothing else." Ottavia hesitantly admits, leaning back into her sofa. I feel my phone buzz inside my pocket but before I can check it, my guardian is talking again. "I suppose it's too late to ask this question now, but are you _sure?_ "

It's kind of funny, because it's the second time someone asks me this today. Just like I did with Bel, I nod my head.

"I am. I don't have a future in Accidia – at least, not one that I'd like."

The very thought of it fills me with dread. Memories flood my brain: images of parents who were constantly busy, and children who cracked under the weight of adults' unrealistic expectations. Fights, and blood, and jealousy. And look where that got us – one of us is dead, and the other two would rather dabble in a world of crime than go back.

Anyway. I've made my choice.

"Actually," I speak up, "there's more."

~X~

"I think we should tell Lambo the truth about me."

Lambo starts upon hearing his name, green eyes darting back and forth between the living room and his bedroom door nervously before slipping back inside and pushing his back against the wall. He remains motionless and silent, listening for anything that might tip him off as to whether or not the adults have noticed his presence. By the way conversation goes on, it seems unlikely.

Truth be told, Lambo hadn't exactly meant to eavesdrop. _Not really_. It wasn't Lambo's fault that he had woken up when he had, bothered by his cold toes... and nor was it his fault that his bedroom door had been left slightly ajar by his dad. He'd only been in search of a pair of socks when he heard them. Lambo could tell by their voices that they were discussing Adult Stuff; the kind that starts with a capital A and a capital S. It's the kind of stuff Lambo is too young to understand and nobody tries to explain to him.

His dad and auntie talk about Adult Stuff sometimes, and some of it is all numbers and really boring, while other times it concerns the Family and is either scary or really, really weird… it's just that, usually… Nena doesn't get involved. Lambo had been justly curious by that point... just not enough to lose any sleep over it. Then he picked up another tidbit of information: _Helena, his big sister, was leaving._

At least, that's what seems to be going on.

Lambo doesn't want her to leave! The very thought of it makes his vision go blurry with tears, but the cow child wipes them away stubbornly. There's no reason to cry now – even less so to be loud about it – especially since he doesn't _want_ to be noticed right now. Being the baby of the family comes a lot of perks, and people catering to his needs whenever he as much as scrunches up his face is definitely one of them. (Some would call it the manipulation, but Lambo doesn't know that word yet). Right now, attention isn't what he wants.

His dad is talking and Lambo listens.

"- the truth? About you? About... your country? But he's - he's only a child!"

"I know he is, but honestly, wouldn't it be best if he knew?"

"That's some bloody history, Principessa. I don't know... there's no reason to burden him with something like that. It's in the past, right?"

"Toro… Prince Belphegor is still out there."

Lambo recognises his aunt's voice, careful as it is. If he concentrates, he can imagine her rubbing her brother's shoulder, worry lines visible on her forehead. He leans a bit closer, peaking through the door, but even then the only thing he can see in front of him is the hallway.

What are they talking about?

More importantly, why are they talking about him? What does Helena want to tell him?

"But... he doesn't know, right? Helena said - she said he didn't."

"He doesn't _now_ , but... look, I'm not - I won't let anything bad happen to Lambo, but I can't protect him from who I am. _What_ I am. He should at least know, shouldn't he? If not about Bel, then about-"

"I know. Look, I'm just saying - isn't he too young?"

"..."

Disappointingly, the conversation quiets down after this - it gets slower, quieter - and Lambo stands there for a moment longer, a frown settling on his features.

Not feeling all that bothered by his cold feet anymore, Lambo trudges back towards his bed. He wraps himself in his cow-patterned blanket and closes his eyes, intending to push this night out of his brain if he really has to.

Several minutes pass and he isn't successful. His mind keeps tormenting him with thoughts he doesn't _want_ to think about: he keeps thinking about Nena, who wants to leave, and the fact that there's something she wants to tell him, and that his dad doesn't want her to tell him whatever it is. Why? And what's with all that talk about a prince anyway? Prince… what was his name? It was weird. A mouthful.

Is his sister leaving him because of that prince? Lambo doesn't like that thought at all.

Another five minutes tick by and Lambo can still hear a faint murmur coming from the living room. What's taking them so long anyway? Can't they just tell him whatever it is and get it over with?

Out of nowhere, a thought suddenly hits him... or rather, a memory.

He remembers picking up the phone for Nena a couple of days ago, and he remembers the voice that talked to him. Quite abruptly, he remembers talking to someone who called himself _a prince._

~X~

My talk with Ottavia and Toro goes well enough, I suppose.

Toro doesn't want Lambo knowing about Bel or Accidia - he's quite adamant in defending his point. He'll tell him, he insists, when Lambo is older. I agree because it's been a very long, tiring day and I honestly just feel drained.

I flop down on my bed with a sigh, burying my face in one of the pillows.

I contemplate falling asleep like this, without changing into my pyjamas… but in the end the fact that I've been wearing this dress all day wins out. I might as well get out of it and _then_ go to sleep. The plan sounds like a solid one, so I wrestle myself out of my jacket without getting off my bed, only to notice that it's strangely heavy.

Ah, right. My phone.

I throw the device on one of my pillows, get changed, and slip into bed. I don't turn off the lamp next to my bed quite yet, reaching for my phone instead and taking a moment to unlock it. Sure enough, there's an unread message waiting for me and I don't lose any more time opening it.

It's from Bel _._

 _There was a peasant following you ~  
Did you know?_

Received at… 21:18. So, that's a good forty minutes ago.

More importantly, somebody was following me? I feel a shiver run down my spine and quickly type my reply.

 _What? Who?_

Barely a minute passes before my phone buzzes.

 _Some peasant._ Followed shortly thereafter by: _According to her ID her name's_ _Mia Fierro. Ring any bells?_

 _No._

I start to type out a 'why do you have her ID?' before I realise that… I'm not too sure if I actually want to know the answer to that question. It doesn't really matter in the end because Bel texts me again to let me know he 'took care of it', and that I 'definitely owe him an ice cream now'.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Took care of it... that's a euphemism if I've ever seen one.

I don't know a Mia Fierro, but I don't allow myself to dwell on the implications of Bel's words for too long.

 _Are you even allowed to do that? Won't you get in trouble?_

 _:)_

That's a… disconcerting use for a smiley. Before I can figure out what kind of a reply to give to it, my phone is buzzing with a new message.

 _Anyway, I took care of it so don't worry. We couldn't talk properly earlier but there are still some things that need to be done_

 _What things?_

 _Paperwork mostly. And you'll need to be approved by the Boss  
Well, Boss isn't here so it's probably going to be the shark~_

… the… shark? I read the message again but, nope, it's still there. Bel, unperturbed by my confusion (and slowly mounting worry), simply goes on.

 _I won't be in Italy next week, but Mammon can probably come in my place_

Then, a few moments later: _make sure you're home, Shark likes to show up unannounced._

 _I'll keep that in mind._

It's quiet for a while as I wait for my screen to light up again, but it seems like the conversation is over. I put my phone down and decide to get some sleep – I'll figure this stuff out in the morning. Just as I close my eyes though, something else catches my attention.

I hear the door open, light footsteps approaching me. A few moments later, a weight settles on my bed – I don't have to open my eyes in order to know that it's Lambo.

"At least close the door behind you." I mutter, "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Predictably, Lambo doesn't react to my words – instead, he breathes in deeply, emulating sleep. _Brat._ There's no way he's asleep already.

Rolling my eyes, I consider getting up to close the door myself before deciding that it's not worth the effort. With the last bit of energy I have still left for today I pick my phone back up and delete my conversation with Bel.

I'm asleep moments thereafter.

~X~

Saturday starts on… a rather unpleasant note.

I find Toro and Ottavia sitting at the kitchen table that morning, neither one speaking but both looking somber. Toro's hand is on Ottavia's shoulder, squeezing it in a reassuring sort of way and I notice that though Ottavia's phone is in front of her, she seems rather distracted.

"Ottavia? Toro? What's going on? Everything okay?"

Both of the siblings look up, only now noticing my presence.

Truth be told I'm only here to get myself a glass of water, but it looks like I've stumbled into something more serious. Despite the fact that she should already be on her way to work right now (it being 7:30), Ottavia's just sitting there. She breathes in and clears her throat.

"It's nothing to worry about... we just - received some bad news a couple of minutes ago."

"A friend of ours died." Toro elaborates, "It's... well, why don't you go back to sleep for now - I'll make us some breakfast and -"

"No," Ottavia interrupts, "No, I've got to get to work. Anyway, be good, alright? I'll see you guys tonight."

The words have barely registered in my mind but Ottavia's already walking past me and I turn my head to follow her as far as I can. When she's out of sight, it's only Toro and I left. He's still sitting.

"This friend… may I ask -"

"You wouldn't know her." Toro tells me, "Mia was… ah, how to put it… she was an elusive character…"

Mia.

I don't know her, but I already know more than I want to.

"She was a friend of Ottavia's... it's... unfortunate. But it happens, you know... when you're in the business."

Over the course of the day, I discover several more things about the woman called Mia. She was 38 years old, a member of the Bovino Family, and apparently one of Ottavia's classmates from her Mafia School days. According to Toro, they only started speaking a couple of months ago, but their friendship had developed rapidly.

Her cause of death, to my surprise, isn't blood loss or stabbing – somebody wrapped something thin and sharp around her neck and choked her to death with it… I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that bit of information but then again, even if indirectly, I feel like I'm somehow to blame for this. At least, I know that's how I should feel - instead, all I can find myself regretting is the fact that Ottavia's involved. Still. Finding out about this Mia is the least I can do.

Mia was Gaetano's third cousin, she worked directly under Don Bovino as a secretary of sorts and would likely have kept her position whenever the current heir took over. She was a trusted member of the Famiglia, reasonably well off, but not very well-versed in fighting.

Seeing her picture on Toro's phone doesn't make it any better because she actually looks familiar. I can't quite place her long face or the short pixie cut… but I do know that I've seen her before. Had I seen her with Ottavia? Had Ottavia ever even mentioned her? No matter how hard I try, I just can't remember.

I don't dare bring up Bel's messages, or the fact that – for some reason – this Mia had been following me before her death.

~X~

Toro stays the night, and the next one. On the third day, Ottavia practically pushes him out – she insists she's doing fine.

It being such a hectic, worry-filled week I somehow manage to forget Bel's teammates were supposed to meet me until there's two of them are standing at the front door. I shuffle awkwardly, eyes darting from the familiar dark uniform, to the long silver hair, to the… baby with the puffy cheeks.

"Uh, yeah. Hey, Toro? I'll call you back later, okay?" I murmur into my phone, "Yeah, sure, bye."

Modestly put… I'm not exactly dressed to impress. I'm wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a cheesy quote written on it. Pretty simple and kind of cute, but not something that screams Princess.

Well, there's nothing I can do about that now. Attitude is going to have to make up for my other shortcomings.

I clear my throat, but Rapunzel is quicker.

"We're looking for Ottavia Bovino's apartment. Did we... get the wrong place?"

Ouch.

I know I don't _look_ the part but this is just embarrassing.

"No, Ottavia lives here. She's out right now – but it's probably me you're looking for anyway?"

For a moment, it looks like Rapunzel's eyes are going to bulge out of his sockets. He looks at me - really looks - and tries to gauge my level truthfulness. He quickly schools his expression into one of carefully tailored professionalism moments thereafter, nodding and apologising for his mistake.

"Helena Ehrensvärd-Laurvigen?"

"The one and only."

"I'm Superbi Squalo, this is my associate Esper Mammon."

Oh, _Squalo_! Shark! That was his _name_!

That's one mystery solved, then.

"Come on in. The living room's through the first door on your left – I was actually going to get myself something to drink so… do you want anything?"

For the record, I don't think I have, _ever_ , in my entire life, seen somebody regard me with a look of such utter suspicion. Mihail is one thing, but Superbi Squalo looks at me like he's seriously contemplating the odds of me pouring cyanide in his drink.

Mammon wants to know if we have strawberry milk – that, at least, I can work with.

I get myself a fizzy drink, grab a carton of strawberry milk from the fridge and decide to get a water bottle out as well. After a moment of consideration I also grab three glasses. Making my way Ottavia's living room, I find Mammon already sitting on the sofa. Squalo, on the other hand seems to have found one of Lambo's grenades and is examining it closely.

"Yeah, don't mind that – they're toys. Don't pull the pin though, they really do explode."

"Fun." The man snorts, placing the grenade down on the table and leaving it there.

Since Squalo has seated himself in the unoccupied armchair, I content myself with sitting next to Mammon. I take a sip of my glass and when I look up again, I am _Princess_ Helena. Both assassins pick up on it, their gazes growing sharper.

I smile.

"Shall we begin?"

…

Apparently, we can't begin just yet. Squalo, who seems to be very annoyed about the entire ordeal, brings up Mia Fierro and Bel's… disposal of her. He says something about mist flames (what now?) and illusionists and has Mammon to do some sort of check on me.

I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but five minutes later Mammon is all done and has a condescending comment at the ready about how sloppy Mia's work had apparently been.

"Self-taught, probably… no _proper_ illusionist would leave obvious traces like that. Doesn't seem like anything else is amiss either – as far as I can tell, Fierro was the only one keeping tabs on her."

I'm starting to wonder if arrogance is a trait everyone in the Varia just naturally possesses, but before I can think about it for too long, Squalo's moving on to business. Varia business, that is. It's… almost reminiscent of a job interview, to be honest. There are a lot of questions, and with a lot of them the problem seems to be that I am – for all intents and purposes – a civilian.

They already know exactly how many languages I speak as well as which ones I'm currently learning, and they can list off my best subjects easier than I can. The main problem, I'm told, will be keeping up physically.

That's to be expected, I suppose, but the Varia wouldn't be what it is today if it they only accepted those of Mafia or Vongola background – Varia Quality (or the potential for it) can be found in a lot of places, and sometimes civilian backgrounds just can't be avoided. All in all, it will be Bel's duty to whip me into shape, so Squalo says that that's his problem to deal with and moves on.

Since Bel left all of the actual explaining to his teammates ("Fucking figures" Squalo mutters), the two of them (read: Squalo) are left with the task of bringing me up to date with relevant information and talking me through the contract. 57 pages of it. Front and back. In a small font.

It's kind of tiring, but I also want to be sure everything's correct and I'm not being cheated in any way so I set out to comb through the entire thing. About ten minutes later, I speak up.

"So... are there any others? At the moment?"

"Just one."

Nodding, I go back to what I was doing.

It kind of _is_ like a job offer. Basically, I'm being placed under the 'guidance' of one of the Commanders – and in my case, that's Belphegor. To put it simply, he will be my de facto guardian for the duration of this arrangement. This wouldn't be possible in the real world since both of us are minors, but the Mafia plays by its own rules. Bel gets paid and has a job - that makes him responsible for his own actions within the Mafia.

As a... Varia temp (my words, nobody else's), I'll eventually be expected to contribute as well. I don't get paid, but living expenses are already included in the price tag, so whenever I clear out my debt, I'm free to go my merry way. Should things go awry, my Guardian Officer still has the right to terminate the contract - either through agreement or otherwise. It's a precautionary measure because it's always good to have those.

The next twenty or so pages are all oaths of silence, so that none of the secrets I may or may not discover during my term end up being leaked.

Bel has already done his part by signing everything that needs to be signed – his signature (in stark contrast to the headache-inducing scribbles I usually have to endure and decipher) looks every bit as regal as the name signed beneath it implies.

The specifics are discussed, and by the time the two Varia assassins are out the door, I have an exact date to go with all of the other information I need to give my guardians.

~X~

My birthday approaches rapidly.

Between making sure Ottavia's doing fine, packing my bags, and being jittery with anticipation and a newfound sense of purpose, the days leading up to the 6th kind of start to blur together.

Lambo wakes me up in a typical Lambo fashion on that Wednesday morning… in other words, he jumps on my bed several hours before I actually wanted to be awake and repeats my name until I crack an eye open.

"Wassit Lambo?"

"Birthday present!" Is all Lambo yells at me, shoving a small package into my hands. It isn't my birthday yet – that's tomorrow – and it takes me a second or two to remember that in light of recent events, we decided to celebrate it a day early.

I take another moment to blink the sleep out of my eyes, groggily propping myself up against one of my pillows. I thank Lambo for his present and set out to unwrap it.

What's inside is a pink cell phone strap. It has a cute little bunny dangling from the side and I feel a smile tugging on my lips. Lambo proudly declares that he chose and bought it all by himself – he even wrapped it up just for me!

"Thank you, Lambo." I grin, pulling the little boy into a hug. I try to give him a kiss on the cheek as well but he has apparently suddenly contracted a severe case of 'that's embarrassing, Nena! Stop it!' and tells me off.

I attach Lambo's present to my phone and decide to get up for the day.

...

Toro's camcorder may be a thing of the past, but that doesn't mean he'll let himself be outdone.

He's standing at the ready when Helena walks into the kitchen that morning, finger hovering over the screen of his phone, and captures the exact moment she realises they're standing there. Lambo throws some confetti into the air and together they wish her a happy birthday.

Plates are passed around, Lambo's green sippy cup filled with milk, and Ottavia's freshly baked pancakes fill the kitchen with a smell that makes their mouths water. The little princess hums appreciatively and Toro can't help but feel some pride for both of the kids as she holds up her phone, showing off the charm Lambo got her.

"It's cute, right?" She says.

Lambo puffs his chest at the indirect praise, little feet kicking back under the table. Toro is pleased to note that he seems to be doing better this morning - he'd been sulky ever since they broke the news to him two nights ago. Toro knows Lambo doesn't want Helena to leave... but it's for the best.

She'll be with her brother, Toro supposes, and though that's a feeble relief (is it even is a relief at all?), it's better than being all alone.

(Helena knows what she's doing, he does believe that… but it's also so easy to forget sometimes that she's only a kid.) He can't help the worry that eats away at his insides, but Helena seems to be enjoying herself, and today is her day, so right now that's the important thing.

…

Ottavia smiles as she passes Helena her present that evening – at least, that's what she tries to do. The truth of the matter is that she has to bite the inside of her lip and blink multiple times in order to avoid spilling the tears she's trying to keep at bay.

The package is big and blue, the wrapping paper Easter-themed because they didn't have anything else at the time, and Helena seems honestly amused by this fact. She opens it up curiously, tearing the paper, and pulls out her present.

"Do you like it?" Ottavia asks, "I thought I should give you something you might actually need this year – it's been getting pretty cold and you've grown taller again. Besides, I think it'd suit you."

Helena's holding up a red coat – six big black buttons down the front, arranged in pairs of two, with a belt-like piece around the middle. It has two pockets _– real ones_ , Ottavia made sure – and as she pulls it on, the hem almost reaches Helena's knees.

It's elegant but not too fancy. And most importantly, it's warm.

Helena seems to reach the same conclusion as she takes a look at herself in the mirror and makes a little twirl. When she turns around to face her caretaker, the woman is promptly enveloped in a hug.

"Oh, I love it! Thank you!"

…

There is a sort of melancholy hanging in the air that day, a sort of finality that only gets heavier and harder to ignore the longer we wait. Eventually, even Lambo seems to pick up on it.

The hardest part of it is the evening, when Lambo clutches my sleeve with his tiny fists, looks up at me teary-eyed and says that he doesn't want me to leave. He sniffles piteously and at some point along the way his crocodile tears are replaced by real ones. He curls up on my lap and ends up falling asleep like that.

That night, my own sleep is fitful as well.

* * *

 **A/N: Remember that time I said there weren't going to be any changes in POV? Yeah, I take that back... there's going to be a lot of it. Now and in future chapters.** **Anyway! This concludes the second arc, Varia is up next. We're slowly catching up to the canon timeline!**

 **What did you think of this chapter? Leave a review to let me know~**


	28. New Beginnings

Enveloped by tall treelines and a vast green scenery, the Varia Castle easily manages to look imposing to any first-time visitor. Towers and turrets fill my vision, white-grey walls filled with tall windows and surrounded by large, spacious balconies…

There's a little gravel road leading up to the entrance, asphalt last seen some time after we left Catania and the driver – a man named Giancarlo – navigates it with an ease that speaks of experience. I'm dropped off close to the entrance, my chauffeur instructing me to "walk up to the front door and just let myself in", and that's all the advice I'm given before he drives off again, wishing me good luck and giving me a wave. Brushing off my red coat and stretching my poor, stiff legs, I make my way towards the castle.

The door is heavy but not overly so – I push at it and it moves silently, swinging inwards and granting me entrance.

What's inside is a large entrance hall with several doors to my left and right, as well a big staircase in front of me, presumably leading up to the higher levels. Luckily, I'm spared the trouble of finding someone to guide me through it because Mihail is already sitting in one of the Victorian-style sofas on either side of the wall, hands occupied with solving a Rubik's cube.

The cube disappears as soon as he notices my approach.

"Hey there, Princess. Right on time, I see."

"Mmhm, fashionably late just isn't my style. Anyway, here. This is for subjecting you to Lambo's phone calls that time."

I pull out a box of pralines and pass them to Mihail, who reads what's on the packaging and hums appreciatively.

"My favourite kind, huh? How can I possibly say no to that?"

"Don't get too used to it." I grin, "I was going to give you chocolates at first… but it took me such a long time to actually see you. You know those things don't last at Ottavia's."

Mihail is amused by this, asking me if his chocolates fell victim to Lambo's infamous sweet tooth. Only partially, I admit, which prompts him to throw his head back and laugh.

"Alright, alright." Mihail finally says, rolling his eyes at me "Let's get going."

…

My stuff is already waiting for me when Mihail leads me to where I'll be sleeping.

It's a spacious, well-decorated room with a large canopy bed pushed up against the wall and two tall, curtained windows on either side of it. There's a handsome round table with an armchair to the right, a pretty vase with intricate golden designs but no flowers, and a large dresser against the wall, facing the bed.

A fluffy cream-coloured carpet covers the floor, stopping just short of the door which connects my room with a nice, spacious bathroom.

"Do all guests get nice rooms like this" I grin, "or am I just special?"

"What do _you_ think, _Princess?_ "

Well, that's easy enough – I think that Bel values royalty.

Oh, not that I'm complaining of course. On the contrary – since I'm obviously going to be staying here for a while, I'm planning on taking full advantage of every commodity this place has to offer. I make my way over to the bed as I think this, plopping down onto the mattress experimentally and appreciating the way pillows and soft light-coloured blankets accommodate me effortlessly.

Comfortable, is my first thought.

I could definitely get used to this, is the second.

Mihail says my name.

"I have some things I need to get back to – you're free to go anywhere you like but you should probably wait for Prince Bel to come by and talk to you first…"

"Got it. Thanks."

Mihail gives me a parting wave, turns around and is gone, closing the door behind him. That leaves me all alone in my new room with precious little to do but wait. ( _I could unpack,_ a voice that sounds disturbingly like Ottavia's nags me, but then again I don't really feel like it yet). I let myself fall back instead, eyes roaming to the ceiling.

…

"Wake up, _HE-LE-NA!"_

"… That only works when the other person is actually asleep, you know."

"I couldn't see if you were awake…" My brother shrugs, "Anyway, I brought you something."

Bel raises a bundle of papers I hadn't noticed him holding, waving them around a bit. I get up off the bed and walk over to him, taking the offered papers and skimming through the first few pages. Bel makes himself at home on the nearby sofa, tilting his head slightly in order to keep an eye on me as he speaks.

"Welcome to the Varia, shishishi! Most of what you'll need to know is already written down in there so I'll keep it fairly short: You start tomorrow. I had Mihail put together a custom schedule that takes your circumstances into account, since you're in no shape yet to start any real training yet. Your body would cave in under the stress of the standard Varia training regimen and we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Despite his words not being even remotely funny, Bel snickers, "Your first couple of months here are going to be hell, so don't say I didn't warn you about that.

The Prince also took the liberty of finding you a suitable teacher so that you can further your education. It's right here in the library, and Lobelia taught the Prince up until recently so she shouldn't have any trouble keeping up with a Princess either… Any questions so far?"

Briefly, I wonder exactly what kind of nerves it must have taken for someone to teach an 8 to 15-year-old _Bel,_ of all people, but clearing my head of that thought I focus on something that seems more relevant to the matter at hand.

"Yes, actually. What subjects does this… Lobelia teach?"

"A bunch of stuff… Maths. Mafia politics. Science. A couple of languages. Life skills. She's going to be the one overseeing your education but other than that you do get a lot of freedom. Oh, and if you want to learn about something she can't teach you, we'll find somebody else for that. There's no shortage when it comes to potential teachers."

Bel doesn't really elaborate much further, leaving me to go through the documents he's brought me in a companionable silence. Or, well, as companionable as a silence can get when your brother is sitting next to you, twirling a knife around his fingers with an ease that seems almost disturbing… considering.

(Actually, I'm pretty sure that ease would be considered disturbing no matter what).

My concentration keeps slipping every time I catch sight of a glint of silver in my peripheral vision and I decide that I can't concentrate like this. I put the bundle of papers down on the coffee table, lean back into the sofa and turn to look at my brother.

"So, what have you been up to? We never did get the chance to catch up."

Bel throws the knife up one last time, watches it flip, and catches it without a moment's hesitation. He doesn't pocket it, but does keep it in his hand. I'm not sure what possesses me to reach out for the knife but to my surprise Bel lets go of it without any struggle or complaint.

"I suppose we didn't... it _has_ been about seven years."

Idly, I turn the knife over and inspect it. I don't really need to, of course, because I already know and recognise the design: it's very similar to those knives Bel always sends me on my birthdays. There are a couple of tiny holes in this one though – one on the hilt and three on the blade – and I have to wonder if they serve any purpose.

You could pass a string through it, or something…?

"Recognise it?" Bel snickers after a moment of silence. I give an affirmative nod.

"They're a bit different though…"

"They are! The Prince came up with a new technique recently – it's a pity, but all of my old knives had to be replaced because of that. Stick around for long enough and you might get to see the new technique for yourself!"

"Oh? I'm looking forward to it then."

Deciding to make myself a bit more comfortable before I go on, I toe my shoes off, pull my feet up and settle for sitting with my legs crossed. Bel obviously isn't going to start talking of his own accord, so I guess I'll just have to take initiative. "So… I've always wondered; how exactly did you end up here? I'm sure it's not every day that royalty ends up joining assassination squads affiliated with the Italian Mafia."

Now that we're no longer limited by less than conventional means of communication, unspoken rules and quiz questions, Bel doesn't mind talking. My brother is actually quite talkative and remains this way for the rest of the evening.

I learn about what he's been up to these past couple of years and, since it is Bel, no proper story time would be complete without a couple of his own grizzly tales of bloodshed and murder. Bel also gives me some updates on Accidia, the state of things and information that's been inaccessible to me up until now.

As I had already known by doing my own research, the situation in Accidia has since been stabilised: Father's old adviser is acting as a stand-in sovereign and takes care of all official business. Which makes sense, of course, because Accidia is many things but its people aren't incompetent. Bel explains the truth is only known by a select few: the people that run the country and are required to be concerned with us... they are the ones that know where we are and have done so for a couple of years now.

As far as the general public is concerned, the details of the massacre are unknown. No one knows the runaway Prince is the culprit, and the ones that do know undoubtedly know better than to blab. As soon as they found us, the ones currently in charge of Accidia made quick work of silencing any and all leads that could possibly lead to us. After all, making it common knowledge that the two remaining heirs of a Kingdom are both involved with the Mafia wouldn't do any good to said Kingdom's reputation.

More relevant to us is the fact that Accidia has been sending people to check up on Bel every now and then.

"They're letting us _play around_ for now," Bel tells me, his words dripping with distaste because he's _royalty_ and doesn't like peasants who think they can control him, "Truth is, they have no real use for us until we're old enough to inherit the throne. Just as long as we humour them, they're willing to turn a blind eye."

A bit morally lacking, but nothing entirely new or surprising. The good news is that I get an allowance out of the entire thing, money that can be used in whichever way I see fit.

~X~

When I make my way into the library the next morning, Officer Lobelia is already waiting for me.

She's a woman – quite a bit older than most of the Officers I've seen around so far, but no less intimidating for that. Her hair is pulled up into a simple but elegant bun, Varia jacket accompanied by a black pencil skirt and matching shoes of the same colour. She's sitting at a table when she notices me, several books already piled beside her.

She tells me to take a seat.

As should only be expected from a person who has taught Bel and lived to tell the tale, I get the feeling that nothing can really faze my new tutor. She has this very calm, very professional demeanour, but beneath that lurks something that is decidedly lethal. I feel like she's the kind of person that shouldn't be messed with.

She calls me 'Princess Helena' and gets me started on Vongola History straight away.

The Vongola's Dying Will Flames are as much a mystery as they are a rumour and though I've come across the term before while reading, information about them is scarce and often inaccurate. The story starts with Giotto of the Vongola and his Family, and Lobelia tells me about how the concept of Flames within the Mafia dates back to those early days.

Flames are power: power that comes from the Will, and though it is speculated that everybody has Flames, only a select few have actually been known to successfully call them out and use them. The Vongola's first Boss and his Guardians were all able to do so and written accounts of their feats and accomplishments are still studied to this day as people try to recreate and figure out their techniques.

All Vongola Bosses have been able to wield the Vongola's Dying Will Flame and, officially, that's where it stops. In reality Lobelia tells me that there have been a few other instances of Flame usage throughout the years.

"They're called _Dying Will_ Flames for a reason." My teacher tells me, "See, it takes a very specific kind of resolve to reach that sort of state, but oftentimes people have triggered their Flames when they were in life-threatening situations… Doing something as if you were to die; it allows you to break human limitations and achieve feats that would otherwise be impossible.

There are ways to recreate the effects, of course, but that's not important for you to know right now. Most people never consciously use their Flames anyway – it can be harmful when you don't know what you're doing and the effects tend to be exhausting.

Now, I'm sure you've noticed the different Divisions we have around here? Or at least heard about them – your brother is the Storm Guardian, for example?"

I remember Mihail mentioning something like that, so I nod.

"Well, to put it simply, there are seven types of Dying Will Flames. We'll start with Sky -"

…

My head is still buzzing with all of this new information when Lobelia decides we're done for today. She takes a stack of papers out of a folder, slams it down in front of me and demands that I go through the contents in preparation for our next class. With that she politely excuses herself and is gone.

I curiously lift the first page of my assignment only to find that the instructions aren't even in Italian.

~X~

"Even the staff is Varia Quality around here, so they don't disappoint." My brother lets me know as we walk down a long hallway on the castle's first floor, "We've got a dining room over there, that's the public one– the one around the corner is smaller and unofficially belongs to the Commanders; Lussuria always insists we should dine together but that's just him being a peasant."

"Lussuria? Who's that?"

As it turns out, I don't have to wait long in order to find out: the moment we step into the kitchen, he's already there. The only reason I know it's him is because he's wearing a pink, frilly apron around his midsection, the name "Lussuria" stylishly embroidered on the part that covers his chest.

He's a couple of years older than Bel, really colourful and fairly… eccentric. My eyes are immediately drawn to the green bangs, and then to the orange feathered boa around his shoulders. He's holding a big bowl and mixing the contents with a bright green whisk.

"Oh, it's Bel, isn't it?" The man cheerfully hums, "I was wondering when you'd show up~ I was just thinking about what we should have for dinner -"

But Bel moves out of the way to flag down one of the cooks, and Lussuria's eyes suddenly land on me. His jaw drops almost comically. He puts the bowl down on the counter, quickly wiping his hands on his apron.

"You must be Helena, right?" He holds out his hand and gives me a bright smile. "I'm Lussuria – as you can tell by the name on the apron – I'm the unofficial mother of this family! You can call me Mama Luss!" He makes a little twirl right as he introduces himself.

…He seems nice enough. I take his hand and shake it.

"It's nice to meet you." I say. "I'm Helena."

I don't know if it's something I said, or something I did, but all of a sudden a pink background seems to blossom all around Lussuria. He clasps his hands together over his heart rather dramatically and I can almost swear that there are thousands of sparkling little stars in his eyes.

He sounds absolutely thrilled.

" _So polite_! Bel, you never told me your sister had _manners_!"

I can't help but hide my laughter behind a cough.

(Evidently, the bar wasn't set very high in that department).

" _Hey!_ Don't make it sound like the Prince doesn't have manners!"

~X~

While the weather is still nice enough to allow this, Bel's little sister spends her mornings outside.

Mammon knows this because she's seen her at it, running laps around the castle before her morning classes start, and then again in the evening with either Belphegor or Mihail Matei in tow to keep her company. Company, of course, is a relative term when it comes to Bel. The latter of the two seems to get along just fine with her, but unfortunately for the little Princess, Bel's go-to method of encouragement usually involves flinging knives at people and yelling at them to "think fast!" while he sits perched on a vantage point and refuses to come down for anything less than dinnertime. She's still there though and hasn't run away or ended up dead yet, so Mammon supposes that that must count for something.

Today must be a Matei day, because even before the door to her bedroom is pushed open, Mammon can hear Bel's footsteps echoing down the hallway.

One of the perks of being a Commander is that the only people who ever come this part of the castle are fellow Commanders, and footsteps become very easily discernible when there's only a select few people to keep track of. The illusionist looks up from the money in her hands, just in time to see her blonde teammate saunter into the room. The paper bills spread out all over her bed should've been a clear enough sign not to sit down… but, as per his usual modus operandi, Bel decides to make a nuisance of himself just because he can.

He plops down on her bed and sends her precious money flying. Had her eyes been visible, Bel would've found himself on the receiving end of a flat, entirely not amused stare. As it is, Mammon's flat, entirely not amused tone of voice will just have to do instead.

"Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Mammon~ the Prince was looking for you." Bel simply says, a grin growing on his lips "There's a favour I want to ask of you."

Mammon sighs.

"You know this, Bel. I don't do favours unless -"

"You're getting paid! Ushishi~ I know!"

Which is how, in the end, Mammon gets roped into being one of Helena's tutors.

~X~

With another set of classes added to my curriculum, the rest of the month suddenly seems to fly by.

I'm not sure what it is about December that ignites peoples' need to get rid of their enemies, but the festive days are _packed_ with missions. They come in one right after the other and suddenly the castle seems to be both busy and strangely empty at the same time. Mihail hasn't stayed at the HQ for longer than a night at a time and on December 6th Bel comes to me with the news that he's going to be sent on a mission to Belgium for at least a week.

Since I can't go with him, Lobelia is the one left in charge of me until my brother returns – which isn't as bad as it could have been since she believes in independence and lets me carry on as I have been since I got here. Being so close to retirement gives Lobelia some leeway when it comes to missions though and that is good news for me: my lessons with her are able to go on without any hindrance, mostly focusing on math and sciences now instead of the Vongola and its history.

More good news arrives two days later, though this time I'm glad about class being cancelled rather than the opposite. Mammon is away sent on a mission to Berlin and my relief at not having to deal with any horrible monstrosities for a fortnight is practically palpable.

(I may have picked up an interest while studying Flame Lore with Lobelia, but that doesn't mean that I actually have to _like_ illusions.

They're confusing and irritating and being unable to tell a fake from reality is really annoying. It comes with doubts and second-guessing, and Mammon being the strict teacher that she is doesn't allow her students any time for that).

~X~

Lambo doesn't like being an only child… after all, life without his sister is boring. Even worse than that, it's _lonely_ , and Lambo soon discovers that he doesn't really like the feeling of being lonely either.

In more ways than one, being lonely is actually worse than being bored, Lambo thinks, because boredom is easily fixable and this… this, well, it isn't. He feels _abandoned_. And sad. And a little bit betrayed. If he's being honest with himself, he'll admit that – yes – he's angry at Helena for leaving him. He's angry at his dad and aunt for not wanting to tell him what's going on. He's angry at the world for its unfairness.

As he sits in his auntie's laboratory by himself, surrounded by a couple of his non-combustible toys, Lambo sighs and wishes that Nena were here to keep him company. Puzzles aren't that fun when you're doing them by yourself and his auntie is constantly busy working.

It's safer for him to be here than with his dad while they work, but it's also very, very boring. The people here don't even like him because he's young and might break something.

It's been a month since she left and Lambo wants his sister back. He wants Helena back so badly that it brings tears to his eyes – real ones, not fake pretend ones – and he also knows that no amount of crying and no number of temper tantrums and grenades will bring her back.

It hurts and it _isn't fair!_

And…

… oh…

That purple thing his auntie told him not to touch… he just kicked it…

The bazooka flies into the air with considerably more force than Lambo had thought he'd kicked it with. It falls down and swallows him whole- BAM.

"Oh, shit! _Not this crap again_!"

Amused laughter follows the angry voice, a cheerful hum taking its place.

"It's sure been a while, huh?"

"Guess dinner will have to wait, then?"

Lambo blinks his eyes, cautiously taking a look around. The pink smoke all around him is dissipating, allowing him to realise he's no longer at his auntie's lab. He doesn't know where he is, but he's seated on a large cushioned chair. The top of his head doesn't quite reach the table yet.

"He's gone?"

"It's not malfunctioning again, is it?"

An unfamiliar face appears in his line of vision and the stranger looks just as surprised to see him as Lambo is to see the stranger. The man blinks his brown eyes and Lambo eyes his fluffy brown hair. There's a beat of silence.

"I don't think our Lambo did anything this time…" The man finally says, smiling at Lambo. "Hello there, Lambo."

He doesn't look Italian at all, but he's speaking it? And why does he know his name?

Taking his eyes off the stranger, Lambo finds that the room is actually filled with unfamiliar faces. A pretty lady wearing an eyepatch sits next to him and across the table a very scary man sits. Lambo flinches as the man meets his eyes and the silver-haired stranger lets out a sigh, something about his features suddenly becoming a little softer. He puts his cigarette down in the ashtray next to him, crushing it.

"It's been a while since we've seen this form of him, huh?"

The only people Lambo knows who wear suits like these are Mafia men and women, but he doesn't recognise any of them. His surroundings, he notes, seem just as unfamiliar as the people in them.

"Yeah! He's EXTREMELY small!"

"Ah… could it be… that you don't know who we are yet?" It's the brown-haired man that speaks this time, that same smile still on his lips. It's a smile that makes Lambo want to trust him, but he's a _stranger_ , and Lambo's not supposed to talk to strangers.

Much less Mafia strangers, like these people seem to be.

"Gotta… stay… calm…."

Tears well up in his eyes but before he can start crying another voice speaks up, this one feminine and strangely familiar even though Lambo is sure he's never actually heard it before.

"Tsunayoshi, let me."

And then a woman appears where the stranger had previously stood, and Lambo can't help but stare in confusion.

It's Nena – he _knows_ it is… she's got the same eyes, and the same blonde hair (although it seems to be a bit longer and is arranged into a fancy sort of French braid). Her smile is the same even … but…

"You're _old._ "

Not old in the usual way either – she isn't just _older than Lambo_. His sister is genuinely _old_. She looks like an adult!

"Genuinely old?" The woman repeats with a laugh. Did he say that out loud? "I'm only 20, you know."

"Nena…?"

"Been a while since you called me that. Come on, give your sister a hug."

She holds out her arms for him like she always has, and Lambo doesn't need to be told twice.

(Ten years in the past, Ottavia returns to her lab and finds a teenager in a suit sitting on the floor. He calls her Zia Ottavia, and as realisation strikes her she nearly drops her cup of coffee all over herself).

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, it's an update!**

 **Anyway, leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	29. Progress

_To the Ottavia 20 years in the past:_

 _For me it has already been twenty years since Lambo fired the bazooka for the first time, but for you it only just happened._

 _Now, before you think of it, I know we've got our rules and protocols when it comes to time travel. Rest assured that I would not break them unless I had a very good reason to._

 _As you are reading this, I suspect that the prototype bazooka is as good as ready and you're already neck deep in theories and research concerning the existence of Parallel Worlds. You have already noticed that the world ten years in the future is often different from what you're used to._

 _There's no need to look any further, I can confirm it for you:_

 _Parallel worlds do exist, and unless you do exactly as I tell you,_ Byakuran _will destroy everything._

 _You don't know who Byakuran is yet. That is fine. In fact, I wish I had that luxury. Just know that like you can get a glimpse into the future thanks to the Ten-Year-Bazooka, there is a man who has that same knowledge, but of Parallel Worlds. In fact, his power and the extent of his knowledge far exceeds yours._

 _I don't have the time to explain it all in full detail, but my flame should be enough to convince you of my sincerity._

 _Soon the bazooka will be stolen from you. I ask you to let it happen; when the time comes, it will be returned to you safely. Then let events unfold as they do._

 _You'll find an address on the back of this letter. In a year and three months from now, please do the following: Send an apology package with ammunition for the bazooka to the specified address._

 _Lastly, I need you to find a man called Irie Shouichi. As you are reading this he is still only a boy, but in due time he will become a valuable ally. I cannot stress how important it is to_ _find Shouichi_ _._

 _In 20XX Shouichi will graduate from an American University and return to his parental home in Japan… he will need your knowledge and experience with time travel to construct a device. Don't approach him before that time, and when you do, tread with caution. It's essential that your meeting him remains a secret._

 _You are to tell no one. And yes, that includes the little Princess you seem to be so fond of._

 _Please destroy this letter as soon as possible._

 _Best wishes and good luck,_

 _Ottavia Bovino_

~X~

A small, controlled Flame envelops her name and Ottavia Bovino just _stares_ at it.

It's sparkling and bright yellow... warm like a pulse and steady like a heartbeat. Without having witnessed it before, she still knows exactly what it is: the Vongola's Dying Will Flame.

 _Hers?_

But… that can't be. She's a Bovino scientist – not a Vongola Boss. And the colour seems off anyway.

Still, there's no doubt about it… the little Flame seems familiar. There's something about it that calls to her, something about it that – beyond all reason – makes her recognise it as _her own_. This is it then? A Flame Signature? Like the one the Dons of the Vongola have been known to use… she's never seen it in action, but she knows that it supposedly can't be replicated.

The fact that her future self would be able to produce it, and know how to use a Flame efficiently and effectively enough to sign a document with it… implies several interesting things.

(Are Flames not only inherent to Vongola Bosses?)

(Can other people produce them as well?)

(If so, what are the criteria? And how?)

(Why has nobody noticed before?)

(What uses does the Vongola's Dying Will Flame have anyway?)

Ottavia sternly tells herself that now isn't the time to be theorising. She's still at work, and though her nephew is fast asleep, curled up in the chair opposite of her, somebody else might walk in and see the letter.

Her hand hovers over her Flame for a few seconds before pushing her palm down on it with the intention of extinguishing it. A feeling of grief hits her. Pain. Rage. _Hope_. She puts the Flame out, and with it everything else is gone as well.

~X~

Bel's methods for training me, it turns out… are somewhat questionable.

And by somewhat questionable, I mean that they are actually a serious health hazard.

…

I'm barely out the library that day, an open book in one hand and a box of orange juice in the other, when a yell of _"heads up, little sister!"_ reaches my ears. The next moment, Bel is jumping down from a nearby chandelier, a knife in his hand and a wide grin spread out on his lips.

I only have a moment to react and do so by slamming my book shut and throwing it up in front of me as a shield. Bel stops just short of stabbing my anthology of short poems, manoeuvres around the tome and finishes by moving back a little.

The first time we did this I made the mistake of thinking Bel was done now, lowered my guard, and ended up with a part of my fringe missing. Live and learn.

"I see you're awake. A bit earlier than usual, isn't it?"

"It's almost time for lunch, actually. The Prince thought he could accompany you."

"… I see."

So, in other words, Bel woke up before 12 and was bored.

Making sure to keep an eye on my brother, I lower my book and start to put it away.

"What's on the menu today anyway? Or... is it a Lussuria day?"

"Lussuria day."

"Ohh~ cake for desert!"

There's a noise outside and as Bel lazily tilts his head in order to take a look out of the window, I seize my opportunity. I grab the handgun that's in my bag, and shoot.

As expected, Bel easily moves out of the way. Knives come flying at me and I throw myself to the side in order to avoid them, firing a few more shots when I'm standing more steadily. The grin on my brother's lips only widens – after all, he didn't climb to the top by being careless. He knew this was coming.

"You're using a gun today? How unrefined, ushishi~"

"You say that no matter what weapon I use."

But Bel is moving again, and I concentrate on keeping my eyes on the opponent.

Bel's fighting style is all confusion and fast movements – it was terrifying the first time I faced him and it still remains that way now. Continually dodging barrage after barrage of sharp knives while also keeping track of Bel's position and my own surroundings isn't an easy task, but it sure is rewarding. I've gotten much better at it lately.

I think… this is… Bel's way of playing? … Which would probably be sweeter if only his version of playing didn't include throwing knives at me. Still, I can't deny that after a while, when you get used to it and realise that Bel is _probably_ not coming at you with the intent to kill… it does become kind of fun.

Fighting Bel, I've come to realise, is a mind game as much as it is a physical challenge and it ends as it always does; with me on the floor, my weapon out of reach, and Bel sitting on my back and refusing to budge.

"Oof… get off me, you're heavy."

"Nope~ this is my victory; the prince gets to gloat for a little while longer!"

"There's no point, you always win! Beeeeel! Bel, get off me!"

I try to throw him off by wiggling around a bit and kicking my legs, but it's no use. He remains right where he is – crushing me with his weight as he takes out his phone and starts to play a game. What a _jerk_.

"Boss would have shot you for your sloppy stance back there," Bel finally tells me after a while, getting up and allowing me to do the same, "make sure to work on that. You're getting much better at dodging though; you didn't get hit at all~"

~X~

"Oh~ so, I was going through some old articles last night. You guys remember that, right? For my mission next week?"

Squalo grunts in acknowledgement.

"Sure. Yeah. What about them?"

We're all sitting in one of the Varia Castle's many living rooms, gathered around the large TV by the fireplace as Luss commandeers the remote control. Naturally, that means that nobody but Lussuria himself is actually paying any attention to the soap opera he's decided to force upon us.

Case in point: Bel sits next to me, snickering to himself as he plays some game on a tablet, Squalo is reading a book, Mammon fled the scene while she still had the chance, and Levi looks like he's about to doze off.

"Well… I wasn't really looking for it, but I came across something I couldn't just ignore, you know?" Pausing for dramatic effect, the man huffs when he doesn't get the attention he thought he would.

I look up from my phone. Then Ottavia replies to my message, so I look back down again.

"So… what is it?" Levi asks.

"Why, I'm glad you asked, Levi. I found a lost gem! Here, take a look."

Bel snorts, obviously not interested in whatever 'gem' Lussuria is referring to. He nudges me instead and tells me to pass him the popcorn.

"You're closer to it."

"But I'm a Prince."

"And I'm a Princess."

"… _Fine_. Shark. Pass me the popcorn."

"Fuck you."

Rolling my eyes, I type out the last bit of my sentence and hit send.

"Pfft. That hairstyle looks even dumber than usual."

"Aww, don't be mean, Levi! I think they look adorable!" The Lightning Guardian's snort demonstrates just how much he disagrees with this statement, but Lussuria doesn't let that dampen his mood. "Oh, you're just a big meanie. Give it here. Bel. Honey, I have a question."

I get the feeling that, had the situation been any different, Bel would have expressed his dissatisfaction at being called 'honey'. As it is, he just takes the article cut-out from Lussuria, swaps his hands away and takes a good long look at it.

The silence is what has me looking up curiously, but it's Lussuria's question of "which one are you?" that has me leaning over to look at what Bel is actually holding.

"Ah…"

It's a picture.

A very old picture, by the looks of it, because the Royal Family of Accidia is depicted on it. The whole family, without anyone missing.

There's the Queen, standing on the right. A face that has long since faded from my memory. Long blonde hair cascades down her shoulders prettily, an elegant, bejewelled crown resting on her head. Aside from the baby she's holding in her arms, she's the only one whose eyes are uncovered.

The King is standing next to his wife. One hand disappearing behind her back as the other rests on his son's shoulder. I spot myself between the two of them. A tiny baby – about the same size as Mammon.

Belphegor and Rasiel sit on the sofa in front of us. Identical faces. Identical suits. Identical crowns. Indeed, everything about them seems to be identical. The only way in which they differ is the positioning of their crowns… Bel's – as always – leans a bit to the right, Rasiel's the same to the left.

Simply glancing at it, it just looks like a family picture.

The longer I stare at it though, the less it feels that way.

Subconsciously, my mind wanders to all of the pictures Toro hoards like crazy. Pictures of Lambo (he's got roughly a bazillion of those), pictures of me, pictures of Ottavia and himself. Pictures that look like we're actually enjoying each other's company.

There's a story behind each and every photograph Toro owns and if you sit down beside him and point at one, chances are he'll tell you about that time Lambo discovered the grandness of grape-flavoured lollipops, or when we went ice skating that one winter and Ottavia lost her favourite pair of gloves.

In comparison to Toro's photo's… the one in front of me just seems sadly empty.

(Were we ever really a family at all?)

(Or were we just a bunch of strangers living under the same roof?)

"What a waste of time."

Before Lussuria can save the picture, Bel has torn it in two, then four, then eight pieces.

Even though the picture is thrown away and never seen again, it still remains in my memory.

It's been a long time since I have thought about the past. About my past, more specifically. My life before Ottavia and the Mafia. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to think about where I've come from.

That fairy tale castle hidden by tall trees and large, green gardens. A place isolated from the rest of the world…

White walls, white carpets, white bedsheets. Golden linings, silver patterns.

 _Red blood staining everything._

That night I sleep restlessly, dreams filled with a boy that isn't Bel but looks like him and behaves like him and _could_ have been him… if only he hadn't been the firstborn. A boy that taunts and torments me until I wake up, crying in the middle of the night.

~X~

"Hmmm… how about I teach you how to handle throwing knives next? You'd probably be good at it."

"Actually… I'm not that fond of bladed weapons."

~X~

The first time Lambo returned from the future, hands still clenched around a shirt that was no longer there to hold on to, Zia had gripped his shoulders and sternly told him not to use the bazooka again.

Unfortunately for her, Lambo has never been very good at following instructions.

He uses the bazooka again as soon as the opportunity shows up and disappears in a blur of pink smoke and excited anticipation.

…

Helena isn't there.

He's in the backseat of a moving car instead, a brown backpack next to him and a driver who swears fluently in Italian in front of him. The car screeches to a halt and Lambo is nearly thrown out of his seat when his body lurches forward.

There's a confused silence that stretches out over the course of several moments but as the man opens his mouth to speak, Lambo is engulfed in pink smoke and brought back to Ottavia's lab.

The third time he travels to the future he finds himself all alone in a large bedroom he doesn't recognise. The time after that he's stuck on top of a tree, clinging to one of the branches like his life depends on it. Lambo starts crying and doesn't stop until a girl with twin braids comes up to rescue him.

That's when his aunt decides that enough is enough and makes him stay at home with a babysitter, where his grabby little hands can't fire any bazookas.

~X~

His aunt's project is finally finished by the time March comes around. In honour of reaching this much anticipated milestone of her career Aunt Ottavia treats them all to a nice celebratory barbecue. She doesn't exactly have a backyard or even a balcony to grill the meat on, so Toro offers up his own house and cooking skills for the occasion.

Lambo helps set the table, placing plates, glasses and cutlery on top of the spotted tablecloth.

"Zia? Who's going to come to the barbecue today?"

Ottavia hums, thinking for a moment.

"Just some friends, really. We've invited Rena… some guys from work… oh, and Mihail said he'd drop by as well so make sure to put an extra plate on the table for him, alright?"

The four-year-old nods, concentrating on the task at hand. Plate, then napkin, then cutlery. And a glass next to it.

 _Nyahaha! Nobody can set the table like the Great Lambo-san can!_

…

Ottavia presents her invention to Don Antonio the week after its completion and receives the appropriate monetary compensation for her time and trouble. She puts a portion of it away for future use, but the rest is spent on a large house just outside of Genoa, where she moves in not even a month after having bought it.

…

A couple of days before his birthday, Lambo gets struck by lightning.

When he opens his eyes and sees Helena hovering over him with a worried expression covering her face, he almost thinks he's still dreaming. For a moment, he even thinks he might be dead.

Then relief fills her eyes and her shoulders relax a bit. There's a hand on top of his head, petting his hair carefully and he knows – he knows – that this is his Lena. It's his sister, the real one. The one from his time! She's saying something, but he can't really make out the words and doesn't really care either way. Lambo simply holds onto her hand and refuses to let go for the rest of the day.

…

They call it Elettrico Cuoio, his body's ability to withstand electricity and receive minimal damage when struck by it.

The doctors are entirely baffled, and frankly, so is his family.

~X~

His father's ring sits heavily on his middle finger; a thick golden band with tiny engravings on either side of it to symbolise the horns of the Bovino Family with a large, square gem in the middle to mark him as the Boss.

Gaetano admires it, twisting his hand and holding it up against the room's lighting.

"How is it?"

The man that speaks is called Giorgio Mazzanti – Gaetano's godfather and one of the late Don's closest friends. He's still wearing his suit from the funeral, but then again, so is Gaetano.

"It's heavier than I thought it'd be, but it fits."

"That's good."

He's officially Don Bovino now, and as Giorgio moves to take some liquor out of a nearby cabinet, Gaetano lets that sink in. The Family is his now, truly and entirely, and he's not sure where to start now that he's finally so far.

There's a letter on the desk in front of him, his father's last wishes written down upon it, but Gaetano doesn't open it yet. He puts it away as Giorgio passes him a glass of whatever he's drinking and while he doesn't mean to forget, the letter will slip to the back of his mind anyway, slowly forgotten about until it's already too late to fix it.

But for now that doesn't matter; this is the present and as Giorgio sits down in one of the armchairs across from him – that same armchair Princess Helena had sat in when she visited – Gaetano takes a sip of his drink and nearly spits it right back out again.

"Ugh, that's nasty. What is this?"

"I figured you could do with something a little stronger than beer right now." Giorgio chuckles. "It's whiskey - it's an acquired taste."

Gaetano regards the glass suspiciously before deciding to give it another go.

Some years ago it had seemed like the Bovino Family was finally on the rise.

For however long as they'd had her, Princess Helena had given their Family hope – the promise of new blood and new talent – a person that could one day lead their Family to greater things; Gaetano hadn't lied to her when he told her his father was hoping to see them married one day. With her as their pawn, her connections as their own, Don Antonio had always thought they'd kick it far. If they could manage to take it a step further, well, that would be even better.

Antonio had wanted her to make a name for herself – to become someone who the outside world could recognise and link back to their Family. Once he inherited the Bovino, Gaetano had never actually intended to let that happen.

Ideally, he had wanted Princess Helena under his thumb– his to do with her as he pleased: Prince the Ripper's little sister entirely at his command. Not that it matters now anyway; in the end the little brat had slipped away like the slippery snake that she was, leaving them all to watch their downfall from where she'd be safe from the oncoming chaos. Could he have stopped her? Who knows. Either way, that girl has gone and turned them all into a laughing stock.

They'd had her, right there in the palm of their hands, and then screwed it up so badly she hadn't even thought twice before deserting. His father had been a soft fool like that, leaving her guardianship and upbringing to Ottavia – trying to win her over with promises and words. They should have taken her away the day they realised who she was – like Giorgio and his men had insisted – they should have raised her as their own, instilled the loyalty they'd need later in life.

But no… Don Bovino had wanted to see what she'd grow into and that had led to their ultimate downfall. Now Don Antonio of the Bovino is dead, one of their best illusionists has been murdered, and business deals keep going south because of their decreasing credibility. They probably shouldn't have bragged about the little Princess before actually securing her, but it's not like anybody can change the past.

It's been a tough couple of months, and Gaetano doesn't doubt that it's only about to get worse for them. Princess Helena might not be the only one responsible for all of this, but nothing stops him from blaming his misfortune on her anyways.

"So… what will we do?" Giorgio asks, putting his glass down and looking at new the Don of the Bovino.

"Isn't it obvious? _We'll make her pay_."

* * *

 **A/N:** **I can't believe we've almost reached chapter 30. Wow. Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, added this story to their favourites and/or reviewed it! I really appreciate your support!**

 **What did you think of this chapter? Leave a review and let me know~**


	30. Birds of a feather

Looking back at it much later, what I still remember about my first kill mostly consists of flashes:

 _The suffocating summer heat._

 _The scent of blood that fills up my nostrils._

… _And the colour red._

 _(So much of it, it seems almost endless)._

~X~

Long after we've returned from Palermo and I've scrubbed my skin red attempting to wash off the blood, I find myself lying on my bed, arms spread out on either side of me as I stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought. As if I'm watching a movie, memories flash through my mind every time that I close my eyes; a bloody spectacle only I am privy to.

 _There's a glint of metal all of a sudden and like puppets without any strings to hold them in place, Bel's targets collapse. Some struggle if he wants them to, some gurgle pitifully as they claw at their bloody necks, giving us the show Bel had promised me… but finally, after what seems like forever and much too soon all at once, the grand finale of every performance is always the same –_

 _Bel's victims don't scream; he doesn't give them an opportunity._

 _Afterwards, he tells me it's much more fun when they do._

I raise my hands, hold them up in front of me and observe them silently. They're impeccably clean, as if I never even left this room… but no matter how much I wash them – no matter how thoroughly I scrub at my fingers to try and get them clean - even then… no amount of soap can wash away the memories.

I can still smell the blood when I close my eyes.

Metallic. _Overwhelming. Its intensity only made worse by that unbearable summer heat._

 _Uncomprehending eyes stare up at me, wide open and afraid… and in that moment, I'm acutely aware of Belphegor's presence behind me; close enough to interfere should he need to, but still standing back as he watches the scene unfold with an air of unconcealed interest-_

 _Waiting, just waiting, but – ah – he doesn't have to wait long, does he?_

I used to play with thoughts like these, back when I still lived with Ottavia, when all there was to it was morbid curiosity and nightmares filled with tall windows and high ceilings and small, cramped cupboards. But it's different now. Imagination doesn't quite compare to the real thing. Holding a human life in the palm of your hand, it being entirely at your mercy, one tiny movement away from death – that's something entirely different in reality.

There's a feeling of control that accompanies it… and it's so different from the helplessness, the complete loss of power that comes with being on the other end of that weapon.

Belphegor's face comes into view quite suddenly, and even after all this time I can't suppress an involuntary flinch at the surprise. I didn't hear him come in but then again that isn't very unusual; Bel's footsteps tend to be quiet when he's wearing shoes … without them, you'd almost think he's a ghost.

At some point between coming back from our mission and now, Bel changed out of this morning's clothes and is now wearing pyjama pants and a loose striped shirt. His skin is kind of red from being out in the sun for too long… but talking about that tends to be detrimental to one's health so hilarious as Bel's aversion to summer may be, I don't mention it.

"Did you want something?" I hum instead, tilting my head to look at him "Or did you waltz in without knocking on a whim?"

"Cheeky, aren't you? Shishishi~ Just thought I should check up on you, being the wonderful prince and brother that I am."

Check up on me?

He's not… _concerned_ , is he? The thought is so alien that I'm actually concerned about _him_ for a moment. His next words though have me believing that – no, that's not really the case.

"You've been in here ever since we got back… don't tell me you're actually _mourning_."

"Well, I was trying to." I admit, letting out a sigh, but Bel only snickers.

"Is that so…"

"…"

He takes a chair, turns it around and places it in front of me. Then Bel sits down on it, one arm on the backrest and supporting his weight while the other goes up to his hair, adjusting the crown on his head.

"You can try and pretend as much as you want to, little sister, but we were both there today." He tells me matter-of-factly.

Which is correct, of course.

As far as missions go, ours was a pretty simple one: go in, kill the target, and get out again. A one-day visit to Palermo. Technically speaking – it being my first time accompanying Bel on a mission – my only job there was to observe.

Only that plans seldom go as planned and today was no exception to that rule: there were witnesses where there shouldn't have been any, unforeseen elements and bad timing, and in the chaos that ensued I ended up getting involved anyway. I killed someone today, without second thought, because Bel told me to.

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" My brother grins at me, sounding extremely pleased with his discovery and leaning in a little closer, "You enjoyed killing that peasant, far more than you're comfortable admitting!"

Ah? What's this?

"How unusual for you. You're only partially correct."

It's a strange thing – knowing, _theoretically_ , what I should be feeling, but being unable to conjure up the right emotions even when I try to.

"Oh?"

"It's not her that I'm mourning." I tell him.

It's myself.

It's the fact that I don't feel the need to mourn someone I never knew – someone that I killed with my own two hands. It's the fact that I could kill again, and again, and again, and I doubt it would faze me any more than my first one did.

I feel as if something inside of me has been lost today.

My innocence? But that wouldn't be the right word for it, now would it…? Maybe a part of my naivety, instead? The last shred of who I used to be, before I was Helena.

…Yes, that sounds more accurate.

"But you admit that you enjoyed it?"

Did I enjoy it? It's not like I had _fun_ , per se. Not like Bel, who blatantly played with his victims, prolonging their suffering for his own sadistic amusement… but –

"It felt… good, I guess. Being in control. It was-"

 _Liberating_.

~X~

Following Bel around on his missions becomes a regular thing soon enough. That killing is just a part of that, doesn't bother me as much as I feel it should.

(In the end, I find that it's easier to just accept it. Questioning myself leads to moral dilemmas and headaches I don't have the time to deal with because as work picks up and my time at the HQ is faced with a dramatic drop, other things take over the forefront of my mind).

What I like most about this change of pace is definitely all of the travelling that we do.

Not just all around Italy, but over the border and to other places as well – countries I've never seen before, with sceneries that are new to me and people who speak in different languages. We don't stay very long, and there's not much time for leisurely activities and strolls around the block but I take what's given to me and enjoy it anyway.

Soon my bedroom is filling up with travel booklets and pamphlets of all kinds and sizes… for future reference as well as work, because being the ditzy tourist is an easy enough part to play and very often extremely effective when it comes to gathering that sort of information only locals could provide. Bel thinks it's funny, but hey, everybody has their own hobbies, right? At least mine doesn't involve hunting down local hitmen and killing them to alleviate boredom.

It's also around this time that I finally start meeting more of the Varia's other members and assassins.

Until recently I had only really interacted with my tutors, Bel, and – on occasion – the other Commanders, but as soon as I actively start going on missions I discover that there's much more to the Varia than just the ones I've met.

Most of them I get to know on missions they share with Bel.

Kuro, an illusionist with a noticeable overbite and an intense love for dark eyeliner, introduces me to the concept of Varia Dares… which is basically Truth or Dare but without the option to pick Truth and the danger levels of the Dares kicked up to an entirely new level.

(Squalo isn't pleased to be woken up at 3AM that night, an edited version of Romeo and Juliet's balcony scene hollered at him from the grass below his window.

The curtain is ripped to the side, window crashing open as Squalo emerges in all of his furious glory.

" _See how he leans his cheek upon his hand_

 _O that I were a glove upon that hand,_

 _That I might touch that cheek!"_

"VOOOOOOOOOOIII! WHAT THE FUCK, BRAT?!"

" _O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art_

 _As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,_

 _As is a winged messenger of heaven - "_

The thrill of mischief and the money I earn from it make the swift retaliation that follows quite worth the experience anyway).

After that, a Lightning called Lucia is the one to introduce me to the rest of the Varia's ladies.

There's only seven of them all in all – eight including myself – and despite their low numbers, they're notorious for both their skill and ability to effortlessly strike fear into the hearts of anyone that dares scorn them.

A Storm called Yevgeniya ("call me Zhenya") drapes an arm over my shoulder, a disconcerting grin on her lips as she congratulates me on the successful completion of my first Varia Dare.

~X~

That hot summer day finds Squalo holed up in his office, several sheets of paper spread out in front of him as he goes through and sorts them into separate piles and drawers. On his desk lies a mission report by one of Mammon's people, and he gives the thing one last glance before deciding he really can't find anything wrong with it. Except for the pink, glittery ink, that is. It's up to date though, follows all the rules and guidelines it's supposed to and the handwriting is actually legible.

What the hell. Pink glittery ink it is then; it's not his problem.

Slamming the file shut, Squalo puts it on top of the larger pile of the two, picking out another mission report and starting over again. He has barely opened this one before a knock on the door interrupts him. He grunts out a command, telling the person to come on in.

When he looks up from his work, Helena Laurvigen is standing in front of him, a bundle of papers in her hands. Her brother's mission report? _Great_. Where's that shitty prince at now?

"He said he had something to do… well, he's making himself scarce for the time being so I'm here to deliver this."

Which, honestly, can only mean trouble and Squalo should _probably_ ask Lussuria to keep an eye out for Bel.

"Alright, just put it on my desk."

Helena doesn't hesitate; she holds the bundle upright, softly knocks the papers into place and deposits the report into the correct box. With that she deems her work over with, nods at him and turns around to leave.

Squalo remembers when, nearly a year ago, the Storm Guardian had sat down in front of him and requested permission to pick up an apprentice. Not just any apprentice either – but a _civilian_ one. He remembers being bewildered by this request – absolutely baffled – because it goes against everything he thought he'd known about his co-worker.

After all, Bel is all about achieving the best possible results with minimal effort on his part… and apprentices, well, that's _not_ how they work. For Bel to pick one with no prior experience? It's safe to say that Squalo wasn't the only one to be surprised that day.

Then again, he also remembers the first time he actually met Helena, back before her training had started and back before he'd really known anything about her at all. He remembers the wave of disbelief (for was that _really_ Belphegor's little sister?), followed by realisation… and understanding. He remembers her eyes best of all, because even then, he'd recognised one of their own in them.

People like them have a tendency to find each other, after all… whether they like it or not. It's the reason – he thinks – why she has adjusted so easily.

If Squalo had to wager a guess, he'd say Bel had probably tried to kill his sister at some point during their childhood. He doesn't know that for a fact, of course, but he's been around for long enough to make a couple of guesses based on the hints and facts he's picked up along the way.

Like how Helena is always, _always_ watching Bel – friendly, joking, learning from him – but still ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Or how she flinches, sometimes, if Bel moves too fast, his knives too close for comfort. An instinctive reaction, it looks like. She doesn't fear him, but she's still cautious.

(As she should be. _As she should be,_ because Bel is a loose cannon, a massacre waiting to happen without a moment's notice).

She was the one that reached out to Bel though, and isn't that kind of telling? What kind of person does that, having experienced what she did?

Squalo knows that how a person is raised determines a whole lot about them; people are shaped by their past experiences and the things they pick up early in life are often the ones that follow them the longest. From the way they do things, to the way they behave and talk, Helena and Belphegor are very different. And yet, there's something there. Something that has kept Belphegor's interest and piqued Helena's.

Right down at the core, Squalo thinks, _that's_ where Belphegor and Helena are similar.

Rotten, twisted, and ugly. Birds of a feather and all that shit.

He's sure that one day she'll direct that icy gaze of hers at her opponents and _smile_ as she tears them to shreds… figuratively speaking, or maybe just literally. No matter which one it is, he knows it's not going to be pretty.

She's not quite there yet – not for a long shot – but Superbi Squalo is confident that one day, they'll be able to call her Varia Quality.

…

(Squalo's ankle is almost stabbed by an armed Roomba on his way to the lounge and so he reluctantly finds out what Bel has been up to this entire morning.

Several of the Varia's live-in assassins think the round robotic vacuums that zoom around the castle with a bunch of knives taped to them are 'quirky' and 'fun' and so – even after the rest of them have been rounded up, disarmed and thrown away – they keep one for the hell of it).

(Supposedly, it promotes constant vigilance).

* * *

 **A/N: Squalo is counting down the days to his retirement (somebody save him)**

 **So, what did you think of this chapter? Helena is finally adjusting to Varia life, I'm so proud of her :')**


	31. Lambo's mission

Lambo wakes up and feels disoriented. His head hurts and his feet tingle with the uncomfortable feeling of pins and needles. He wonders for how long he's been sleeping and blinks his eyes open, bracing himself against the bright light until he slowly realises he has no idea where he is.

What was he doing? Why is he here? Where is here? There's a seatbelt around his waist, much too big for his tiny frame, and there's a green backpack under the seat in front of him. There's a little window to his right, and all he can see through it is an endless stretch of blue. He's… in an airplane?

Lambo blinks, uncomprehending. His dad should be somewhere around here, or – failing to spot him – his aunt, _at least_. But next to him is an old, snoring man, and next to that guy there's a woman flipping through a magazine…

With some struggle, the cow child manages to reach his green backpack and drag it up to his seat. He zips it open and peers inside for an answer.

Guns, money, his toy grenades… more guns… a little black box and some earbuds catch his attention – not a Bovino product, Lambo can tell – because he's been around _those_ his whole life. This one looks cheap, the mark of their Family noticeably absent.

It doesn't belong to him. But then… whose is it?

He curiously takes it out, plugs in the earbuds and powers the thing up. The screen lights up and a video starts to play.

…

 _Kill Reborn_ , that's what it all boils down to.

Don Gaetano – this video is the first time Lambo even sees his face – is sending him off on a mission to Japan and he's not allowed to go home until he has killed the hitman called Reborn. The name sounds awfully familiar, but the picture that follows is even worse.

 _It's a confirmation._

(Because he knows that name. He does).

An infant wearing a suit and a yellow pacifier stares back at him and Lambo quickly turns the device off.

~X~

It's not like Lambo can do much else after the plane finally lands, so he looks at the information his Boss provided him with and decides to at least follow the directions he's been given.

The house these lead him to is very… normal. A two-storey home with a front yard and a half wall surrounding the property. For a moment, he's not sure if his Boss actually gave him the right address. At least, that's the impression Lambo gets from it before a loud BOOM shakes the ground, a window is broken and a plume of smoke rises up into the sky.

Perhaps, had Lambo not met Reborn when he was little, this might have been his cue to do something very stupid like walk into the Sawada residence guns blazing. As it is he remembers his aunt lecturing him with an angry voice, her eyes filled with concern, and knows the importance of never, ever, pissing off dangerous Mafiosi ever again. _Ever._

Reborn kind of scares him anyway, so Lambo decides to keep his distance.

There's a little playground a couple of blocks further down and – for the time being – that's where Lambo settles down.

~X~

As soon as he wakes up from his sleep, his back aching and his eyes itching because he feels like he hasn't slept at all, there's one thought on Lambo's mind: he has to call home. He finds the ten-year-bazooka inside his hair, several candy wrappers, a small bag with lollipops and a couple more of his toy grenades. Unfortunately, he doesn't find his phone.

Did he drop it?

Did he forget it somewhere?

Did his Boss take it?

Lambo doesn't know and, frankly, right now that doesn't matter either: he doesn't have a phone on him at the moment and why that is or where it is, is not important. What is important is finding a way to contact his family.

He starts out by tugging at strangers' clothes, making his best teary puppy eyes, and asking them if he can borrow their phone because he's lost his mama and needs her to pick him up. People are susceptible to that kind of thing… and, sure enough, it doesn't take him long to land a hit.

An old worried-looking woman gives him her phone. She pats his hands and says –

"Here you go, dear. Do you know what number to call?"

As a matter of fact, he does.

It's for occasions like these that his dad took a thick black marker one day, grabbed his jacket and wrote out ten numbers on the tags. Lambo has a penchant for getting into trouble, after all, and his family knows that better than anyone.

The problem is that when Lambo tries to call his dad's number, an automated message plays and tells him that the number he has dialled is not in service. He returns the phone to the old lady and tries another one.

One, two, three… four… they're all the same. It's that same message by that same female voice over and over again until Lambo is pretty sure he's never going to get back home again at this rate.

He doesn't understand why the number isn't working when all past experiences tell him that it should. He's putting in the right digits, and he's actually used this number before. So why isn't it working?

He stops someone else, clinging to them as he asks for a phone, and tries one last time.

 _The number you have reached is not in service –_

His vision starts to blur…

"Are you sure that's the right number you're calling?" The man in front of him puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, speaking to him in a calm, kind voice. As Lambo nods his head and swallows thickly, the other hums. "Alright, don't worry. We'll figure this out, son – there must be something you're doing wrong…"

"I- I want my dad!"

"I know, I know. We'll find your dad, don't worry." The man kneels down in front of him, and Lambo looks at his thin face, his warm brown eyes and tries to spot any insincerity. There doesn't seem to be any. "Tell me, what's your name?"

…

It turns out that when calling someone in a different country, some extra digits need to be inserted before the rest of the number. Once the man figures it out for him, the call connects and Lambo waits impatiently, constantly shifting and almost tumbling off the stool he's sitting on a couple of times.

The man keeps an eye on him from behind the bar, where he's chopping fish on a wooden cutting board. The call connects and as his dad's voice reaches his ear, Lambo suddenly feels a lot lighter.

"Lambo! _Mio Dio!_ Lambo, where are you? Are you okay?!"

~X~

Toro had woken up on the floor that evening, a throbbing ache in his head and a gap in his memories.

It was dark outside, none of the lights were turned on in his house, and by the moonlight shining in through the window he could tell that this had been the case for some time now. The clock on the DVD player read 21:37 and somewhere close by, he could hear his phone buzzing.

 _Lambo was gone._

…

"I called Rena, she's keeping out an eye and ear for him, so that's that." Ottavia drinks some coffee, tapping her fingers against the table's wooden surface as she goes on. "Luciano was unavailable, but I was able to contact Pietro and he said he'd ask around, and do so discreetly."

"Alright. I've got Stefano on the lookout as well. He'll do his computer magic for a price…"

"I'll call Mihail too."

Putting her mug down, his sister takes off her glasses. She rubs her eyes tiredly and when she glances up at him, she looks older than she really is. She hasn't slept tonight – neither of them has – and he doubts they're going to get much sleep until his son is home and safe again.

Lambo was kidnapped, that much they're certain of. Toro found a gas grenade – one of their own making – in the living room and _that_ , really, could only have been a taunt.

Normally this would be a Family matter, but with the recent changes in command… well, Toro trusts Gaetano about as far as he can throw him.

"We'll find him." Ottavia says, but it's an empty reassurance.

They _will_ find him. Toro only hopes that they won't be too late.

…

Japan. Lambo is in… _Japan_.

Putting him on speakerphone so that Ottavia can also hear what he's saying, Toro finds out something that goes beyond even his worst nightmares.

No, his son isn't hurt… but he's all alone in a foreign country, five years old, and Gaetano wants him to kill the _world's greatest hitman_.

* * *

 **A/N: A short one this time, but necessary anyway.** **Chapter 32 should be finished and posted soon enough so you won't have to wait long to find out what happens next~ On another note, I can't believe we've finally reached the canon timeline... after more than thirty chapters. THIRTY.**

 **So, Lambo is doing things differently this time around... let's see where that will lead us, huh?  
**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed the update! Leave a review and let me know what you thought of it~**


	32. Namimori

The Yamamoto residence is a nice apartment building situated just above the sushi bar Yamamoto Tsuyoshi owns. It's a warm and friendly place with wooden floors and white walls and just the appropriate amount of messiness to indicate that – yes – this place is definitely being lived in.

When Lambo wakes up in the guest bedroom the next morning, it takes him a moment to remember why he's here. Boss. Japan. Kind stranger. _Ohhhh_ , right. The kind stranger - Tsuyoshi-san - had helped him call his family last night and then offered him a room to sleep in. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Lambo finally sits up.

The man's son helps him (shows him, really) how to roll up his futon and when that's done they head down together for breakfast.

Half an hour later the boy - whose name is Takeshi, Lambo reminds himself - is rushing out of the house, his school bag haphazardly slung over his shoulder as he yells his goodbyes at them. Lambo simply sits at the bar, sipping some milk from his glass and keeping an eye on Tsuyoshi-san as he works.

"So… the Italian Mafia, huh?"

That much Lambo had told him last night. Surprisingly,Tsuyoshi-san had taken the news in stride.

With Takeshi coming home soon after Lambo's phone call and the subject quickly being changed to accommodate the newcomer, there hadn't been much time for talking. For a moment, he thinks the man is going to pick up that old conversation again… but Tsuyoshi-san doesn't look like he wants to talk about that or ask any questions. Instead, he turns his gaze to Lambo and fixes him with a look that tells much more than his words ever could.

"Don't worry, you're not the first. There's much more to our town than what meets the eye. Anyway… as I said… you can stay here for a while, until your family troubles have been solved, but let's just keep this between the two of us, alright?"

~X~

Lambo gets a phone call from his dad later that same day.

"We'll pick you up as soon as we can. For now just keep to yourself, don't cause any trouble… and stay away from Reborn. Your aunt and I will deal with the Boss."

That's that and Lambo is more than happy to oblige. He can wait, even if he doesn't particularly like being patient.

~X~

Like it usually happens whenever the two of us spar, Bel kicks my ass during training.

I push myself up off the floor and my muscles protest against the movement, every inch of my body aching as I bend over, resting the palms of my hands against my knees and working on my breathing. It is with no small amount of satisfaction that I notice that across from me, Bel, too, is trying to catch his breath.

He looks up, grinning.

"That's another win for the Prince. What does that make the score again? 13 to 2?"

"As if you don't know…" I huff, rolling my eyes, "Two more losses and you get a favour… I'm almost scared to find out what you'll have me do this time…"

The amused snicker Bel answers me with is reason enough to be wary.

"Wouldn't you want to know~"

Fairly certain that we're done for now, I pick up the rod I fought with today, returning it to its proper place as Belphegor gathers his knives. They disappear somewhere inside his coat and exactly where he keeps them all is a mystery we'll probably never know the answer to.

"It's going to be another Dare, isn't it? _At least_ pick something that isn't going to land me in the infirmary this time."

"Ushishi~ who knows… maybe I should make you fight with knives~ you hardly ever pick them."

Despite the fact that Royal Princes do not pout (Bel's words, not mine), I can very much hear the pout in my brother's voice.

Ah... so we're back here again.

Every few days without fail, Bel will try to convince me to fight with knives more often. Every few days without fail, I also end up giving him the same answer.

It's "no".

"And whose fault do you think that is?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," The assassin prince denies with a casual shrug of his shoulders, although his grin tells me otherwise. In the end, he doesn't pester me too much: I keep up with training and make sure not to neglect any of the skills I'm developing so that they don't get rusty. For now that is enough.

After Belphegor decides training is over for today and I realise I still have some time left before my meeting with Zhenya and the others, I go back to my room to take a shower and change into something else. I check my phone for messages or missed calls while I'm at it, but surprisingly, Ottavia still hasn't replied.

Well, whatever… she might be busy. I'm sure she'll get to it eventually.

The purple lounge on the first floor, two rooms to the left from the library, is where the women of the Varia like to occasionally gather. Well – the ones that are interested in being social, at least. Lobelia rarely bothers to hang out with the others since her schedule is too busy, Lucia and Ebba don't actually live in the HQ and only drop in for mission-related purposes… and I know there's a particularly antisocial assassin in the Cloud Division I've only ever heard about but never actually met.

Today, Cerise is there. Deceptively sweet and usually dressed in pink, the petite illusionist has a penchant for picking people's brains and memories apart while sparring, playing with them until they twist themselves to form something truly horrific.

God, I hate illusions.

~X~

The news of Lambo's disappearance doesn't reach me until early the next morning and if anyone is dumb enough to believe I'm going to stay put after hearing the news… then they obviously don't know the first thing about me.

It's at times like these that being Prince Belphegor's little sister comes in really, _really_ handy.

…

(The guy that stands in front of me looks remarkably like a startled deer when I turn the tables on him and ask him if _he_ has the permission to be here. I lift my eyebrows imperiously, and watch him shrink a little under my gaze.

"I can call him to confirm if you'd like me to." I tell the guy, lightly, "But it's pretty early in the morning so I'm not sure he'd appreciate being woken up over such a trivial matter. It's _Lorenzo_ … right?"

"No!" The answer comes quickly – far too quickly – hands reaching out to stop me from taking my phone out of my pocket. Upon realising he's actually holding my wrist, Lorenzo quickly lets go again. "I mean… there's no need. Please go on as you have been, Princess."

"Thanks."

I turn on the printer and go on with my work).

By the time Bel wakes up, it's already too late.

~X~

"Where's Helena?"

"Princess Helena?" The peasant blinks, "She just left, Sir."

 _Left?_ Benind a curtain of blonde, Bel raises an eyebrow.

"Well… did she happen to mention where to?"

"Yes, Japan. She said… it was on your orders...? Prince Bel…?"

~X~

My thirteen-hour flight to Japan lasts thirteen hours too much, in my opinion.

At least it gives me some time to mull over what I'm going to do next, which is a good thing. The answer is clear enough, even without much consideration: the main objective here is to make sure Lambo is safe – what comes next I'll deal with as soon as I cross that bridge.

Bel won't be happy to find me gone, but he's not a morning person by any stretch of the word and unless there's a mission he doesn't usually get out of bed until 11 or 12. That should buy me a couple of hours… three, or four – five until he notices I'm gone, another half hour or so until he gets irritated enough to ask for help. From then on it will be a race against the clock. Another hour or so to get ready and track down Squalo, briefly inform him of the situation and get cleared to leave.

Depending on how quickly he can get a plane – probably one of the Varia's jets, if Levi and his people get back on time – that gives me about twenty hours, twenty-four at most. Not too much, considering what I have to get done, but it will just have to do.

Dealing with the fallout isn't likely to be fun, and Belphegor is going to be _pissed_ , but it's a necessary evil.

So, get to Lambo. Then contact Toro and Ottavia – not with my phone, should probably use someone else's – and figure out what they intend to do. Tweak the plan to take that into consideration… and deal with Gaetano.

Eventually.

Scare him into submission? Or follow my brother's usual advice and just get it over with? That would require work – and time – just to ensure the next Don doesn't make the same mistakes as his predecessor. A long-term solution is what we need, not just a moment of relief.

Hmm…

Later. These are worries for later. Right now, I need to get to Lambo and make sure he's safe, has a place to stay and won't be affected by whatever other dumb decisions Gaetano decides to take in the future. I should start by finding him, then Vongola Decimo...

It's 5AM local time when the plane touches down in Japan, 7 by the time I reach the town called Namimori. A pretty girl who arrived with the same flight as I did gets out of the bus with me, stretches, and turns her gaze towards me.

"Here," She throws me a drink of some kind, smiling a little, "I'm sure we could all use one after this long journey."

Just like that, she's gone.

I glance down at the drink I've been given – some kind of soda, it looks like – only to find that some disgusting, foamy purple substance is corroding the plastic bottle and making it overflow. I throw the thing as far away from me as fast as I can – and when I look up again, the woman is nowhere in sight.

The Poison Scorpion?

What is _she_ doing here?

Some wandering and asking around get me the information I'm looking for. A little boy in a cow onesie was here a couple of days ago, asking people for their phones and trying to call his parents.

"The poor dear looked so distressed… and he was all by himself." An old lady tells me, "I do hope he found who he was looking for…"

A student – at least I guess she is, judging by the uniform – informs me that she saw Lambo at the playground two nights ago, that he was sleeping there. I ask her to tell me how to get there, but when I arrive there's no Lambo in sight. It's both a disappointment and a relief, because as much as I want to find him, I also don't like the idea of Lambo sleeping outside.

Several more people have seen Lambo these last two days, but most of my leads end up nowhere and I'm starting to get a bit desperate when I finally – _finally_ – find someone who can give me some useful information.

"Oh, that kid?" The man says, "He's staying at TakeSushi. Do you know his parents?"

I hum, giving a nod.

"He's my brother. Can you take me to TakeSushi?"

…

TakeSushi – as the name would imply – is a sushi bar. It's only a couple of blocks further down the road and I thank the stranger for bringing me here.

I'm greeted by the owner as soon as I walk inside, who politely lets me know that the shop isn't open for customers just yet. I explain to him that I don't want anything – I'm actually looking for someone.

"He's five years old? Black afro? Wears a cow onesie… I was told I could find him here."

"You're here for Lambo?"

"Yes! You know where he is?"

Though he doesn't lose his friendly demeanour, something about the air around the man sets me on edge. I wonder who he is, to look so harmless yet make the alarm bells in the back of my head go off.

"You know, it's dangerous to carry weapons in Namimori… there are people who won't appreciate it." A threat? No, I decide, it's a warning. More importantly, when did he notice I was armed? "What's your business with Lambo?"

I raise the palms of my hands; a peace gesture the man should recognise.

"I'm his sister. You can go ask him, if you want to. Tell him it's Helena."

He seems to consider it for a moment before giving a single nod, using a towel to dry his hands and telling me to stay where I am as he goes speak to Lambo.

I take a seat.

So… this is where Lambo is staying? It could be a lot worse, I suppose… and the owner seems to look out for his well-being, which is important… he's smart too… hmm.

I hear Lambo before I see him, little footsteps slapping against the stairs as his temporary caretaker tells him to be careful. It doesn't slow him down at all.

"Lena!"

I hop off the stool and find myself with an armful of Lambo within seconds. He hugs me tightly, excitedly blabbering about something I don't have the time to register.

"It's been a while, huh? I know, I know, I missed you too, Lambo."

…

He looks good. Unhurt, fed, and well-rested.

Which is more than what I can say about myself – though I ate and slept on the airplane, I'm still dead on my feet and extremely jet-lagged. Looking at the time and deciding I still have some left before I inevitably get dragged off back to the Varia, a short nap seems like a good solution right about now.

~X~

Takeshi gets home to a stranger sleeping on their couch. It isn't Lambo this time, though the little boy _is_ sitting by her side, a sketchbook on his lap and a digital clock on the table in front of him.

"Hey there, Lambo." He says, confused, "Who's that?" Lambo has a sister, apparently. Her name is Helena and she lives in Italy. "I see… and what are you doing?"

"Keeping guard!" The boy leans in, conspiratorially, "Lena entrusted Lambo-san with an important mission! I need to wake her up when it's time."

Takeshi laughs,

"Sounds like fun!"

By the time he returns to the living room, baseball gear dropped off in his bedroom, Helena is awake and sitting up, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she tries to stifle a yawn. Lambo sticks to her side like he's been glued there, a happy smile on his face as he kicks his little legs back and forth, humming the tune of a song Takeshi doesn't recognise – it's kind of cute.

They discuss something in a language he doesn't understand – Italian, he will later recognise it as – and they finally seem to come to a decision. Like Lambo before her, Helena wants to make a phone call and even takes out some money to pay them back with, even though his dad refuses to take it.

"You're Italian, right?" Takeshi asks Lambo as his sister talks on the phone. Lambo nods his head. "How come you guys know Japanese then?"

"We learned it! Lena knows a lot more languages though… she's really smart!"

"I've never been very good at learning languages," Takeshi admits, "I have a friend who's Italian though, and he knew Japanese as well when he got here. He knows English too, isn't that awesome?"

Lambo doesn't look very interested, but nods anyway.

"Now that I think about it lot of Italian people have been coming in and out of Namimori lately, hahaha! Could it be you two play the Mafia game too?"

Mafia game…?

"Lambo-san is a hitman of the Bovino Famiglia."

"Hmm… I've never heard of that one. Everyone around here talks about the Vongola Family though; my friend Tsuna is going to be the Boss. He's a pretty cool guy!"

Suddenly, the room is very quiet. Ah, Helena has stopped speaking and is now looking at them, apparently?

"You know the heir of the Vongola Family?" She asks, incredulous.

"Yeah, he's in my class."

"Yamamoto-kun… can you take us to him?"

~X~

Sawada Tsunayoshi doesn't look like any Mafia Don Lambo has ever seen.

Not that Lambo would know what a real Mafia Don looks like anyway, because he's five years old and has never actually met one… but… even so… Sawada doesn't look anything like what he would've _imagined_ the heir of the Vongola to look like.

Lambo has heard about the Vongola Famiglia before. Anyone who hasn't spent their lives living under a rock has: it's the scariest, most influential Family in Italy. Lena is staying with the Vongola Famiglia right now – or one of its branches, anyway – and that encompasses just about everything he knows about it. So yes, Lambo has heard of the Vongola, even if only a little, and the boy Reborn is talking to… doesn't look like any sort of Mafia material at all.

He's skinny, looks like a wimp and behaves like one too. At the very least, Lambo had expected a suit. _Or something_.

But… he's not going to get home by sitting around and doubting people, so Lena tugs at his hand and leads the way towards the squabbling duo.

It's strange, Lambo decides, how his sister can hold his hand in the exact same way she always has – with the same warmth, care and gentleness she has always shown him – and still have it feel different. Her hands are different from how he remembers them, Lambo can't help but notice. Not as soft as they used to be, rougher, and her fingers are covered in scrapes and scratches. Callused.

Her hands aren't the only things that have changed about her.

It's the way she holds herself, he thinks. Confidence, maybe? Not that his sister hasn't always been confident in herself, hasn't always held herself to certain standards… but when she wears it on her sleeve like this, it feels different.

Takeshi suddenly breaks out into a happy grin, putting his hand up into the air.

"Yo, Tsuna!"

The brown-haired boy spins around, giving Lambo his first full view of the Vongola's future Boss. Fluffy, brown hair, big brown eyes, and an orange T-shirt. It looks kind of weird, as though it was torn in two and sewn back together again hastily by someone who has little experience.

"Yamamoto-kun! What are you doing here…?"

"My dad found this little guy wandering around in front of his shop a couple of days ago… it's kind of a long story, but I'm showing them around town."

Lambo tears his eyes away from the two boys and follows Helena's gaze instead. His target is standing next to Sawada Tsunayoshi… yellow pacifier, fedora, suit and all. He doesn't look any different from the last time Lambo met him, and his black eyes – momentarily meeting Lambo's own as they inspect the newcomers – make him squeeze Helena's hand a bit tighter.

"Reborn." Helena politely nods her head in greeting and the hitman's eyes move back to her.

Not missing a beat, Reborn tips his fedora.

"Princess Helena."

"Eh? Reborn? You know these two?" It's Sawada Tsunayoshi that speaks this time, turning their attention back to him.

"We've met before. It's Sawada Tsunayoshi-san, right?" She bows, as is customary here, and once she's standing properly again, his sister goes on: "My name is Helena and this is my brother, Lambo. We're here to ask for your help, Decimo."

Frankly, the Vongola heir looks like his soul was just sucked out of his body

~X~

Sawada-kun is a nice boy. Timid, kind of unsure of himself… and very vocal about the fact that he doesn't want to be a mafia boss.

"Lambo's Boss ordered him to kill Reborn?!" The boy summarises, a tone of incredulity lacing his words as brown eyes nervously glance back and forth between Lambo and his target, "That's crazy!"

"It's underhanded." I hum, voice neutral despite the pang of anger that I feel deep down inside my chest.

There's a time and place for everything, and Gaetano will get his due… but… this is something that needs to be settled before we get to that.

"Distasteful." Reborn agrees.

"Yamamoto-san is offering Lambo a place to stay for now – until we figure everything out, at least – so you don't need to worry about that. I only ask that you look after him, as much as you can. Even Gaetano Bovino isn't dumb enough to try and do anything so long as Lambo is under Vongola protection."

Reborn hums, turning his head to look at his student, "Well, what will you do, Decimo?"

"Hiiieee! _Stop calling me that!_ "

(Sawada-kun is a nice boy. Unfortunately for him, he's also a total pushover.)

~X~

"She's a _real_ princess? But - but I thought she was training to be an assassin?!"

"Those two aren't mutually exclusive, Dame-Tsuna." Reborn states, shaking his head, "You still have a lot to learn before you become a real Mafia Boss."

("I told you I'm not _going_ to be a Mafia Boss!")

~X~

We've just left Sawada Tsunayoshi's house when a hostile presence catches my attention. I look back over my shoulder as Lambo animatedly talks to Takeshi about something or the other, eyes narrowing slightly, but nobody is there.

Returning my gaze back to the front, I let Yamamoto-kun lead the way back to his father's sushi bar.

"We're home, dad!"

"Oh, hey! Welcome back Takeshi."

Lambo lets go off my hand a moment later, running off to go upstairs and find his backpack. There's an umbrella stand next to the door and I hope Tsuyoshi-san won't mind me borrowing one.

Unnoticed, I slip back outside again.

I close the door behind me and take a look around, observe the people passing by for a moment before making my way towards the alley next to the shop. It's empty, which is good, and not a dead end – which is convenient.

Giving it another moment, I turn around. Sure enough – he's standing there.

'He' being a teenage boy, dark-haired and pale, the jacket of his school uniform hanging from his shoulders in a rather blasé manner. I don't know who he is, but I don't suppose that's very important. What is important is the look he's fixing me with. Sharp and chilling. The look of a predator.

I meet his eyes, swinging the borrowed umbrella over my shoulder, balancing it.

"You've been following me."

"Being in unauthorised possession of weapons is prohibited in Namimori."

Ah?

"This is just an umbrella, though. Doubt I'll need it in this weather of course…"

I'm not sure when it happens but the boy is suddenly holding a pair of tonfa, stance lowering slightly – dangerously – before he runs at me.

Immediately, I bring up the umbrella to block the attack. Considering how strong the hit is, it's frankly kind of astounding that the impact doesn't crack the thing in two right then and there. I back off a little, training kicking in.

"I meant the others." The teenager hisses.

The gun? Or Bel's knives? Which does he mean?

Hmm…

Well, either way – it might be best to try and defuse the situation before it gets out of hand.

"Alright, you caught me." I shrug, smiling apologetically, "I didn't know I needed an authorisation – I'll happily oblige and get one if you tell me how to though. There shouldn't be a problem then, right? I don't want any trouble, believe me."

But it doesn't look like the stranger is about to give up.

"You know how to fight." He says, calculating. Then, his eyes move to the umbrella and the look that crosses his face spells nothing but bad things, (he looks _excited_ ), "For stealing from Namimori citizens, I'll bite you to death."

First the Poison Scorpion, then Tsuyoshi, and how this?

Seriously… what's up with this place?!

~X~

I do finally get around to getting that authorisation… _after_ Hibari Kyoya has had his fill of fighting me, that is.

That's his name, I find out some time later, and his parents are certainly no less scary than the boy himself.

The Hibaris' are the self-proclaimed protectors and peace keepers of Namimori and – from what I gather – nobody actually dares oppose them. I can certainly understand why, after Kyoya's mother beats a poor soul into the ground for interrupting our meeting.

 _Terrifying._

I'm allowed to keep my weapons, warned not to disrupt the peace in Namimori _(or else….)_ and promptly sent on my way. Compared to everything else that has happened today, the walk back to Tsuyoshi-san's sushi bar is actually very peaceful and relaxing.

When I get there, most of the customers have already left and Tsuyoshi is cleaning some glasses as one last customer sits by the bar, eating some sushi.

"Ah, Helena… you're back." The man says, nodding his head in acknowledgement. I place the umbrella I bought to replace the one Hibari destroyed in the stand, shrug my coat off and seat myself at the bar.

Putting my hand in my pocket and digging out some cash, I ask if there's anything I can still get at this hour. Tsuyoshi goes to the backroom to check and that leaves me alone with the stranger.

Turning to look at him, I find that he's already watching me. Light blond, messy hair… and a pair of glasses. He doesn't look like he's from around here, but he's wearing a uniform that I certainly do recognise.

"Princess Helena?" He inquires, though he looks like he already knows the answer to that question.

"That's right. And you are?"

"Ottabio. I'm the Varia's Cloud Guardian."

* * *

 **A/N: So many new characters, phew!**

 **If you're wondering who Ottabio is: no, I didn't make him up. I found him on the wiki and he actually was the Varia's Cloud Guardian during the coup. Another spelling for his name that I've come across is Ottavio but since we already have an Ottavia in this story I thought we should stick with Ottabio.**

 **Anyway! What did you think of the chapter? Leave a review to let me know~**


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